


One In A Thousand

by DictionaryWrites



Series: One In A Thousand [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Belly Kink, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Choking, Cock Warming, Come Inflation, Complicated Relationships, Crying, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Emotional Manipulation, Gang Rape, Gangbang, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Intersex Loki (Marvel), Interspecies Relationship(s), Lactation, M/M, Male Lactation, Masochism, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Omorashi, Painful Sex, Painplay, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnancy Scares, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Esteem Issues, Sibling Incest, Size Difference, Size Kink, Spanking, Spreader Bars, Stomach Bulge, Teasing, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Trans Character, Trust Issues, Vaginal Fingering, Violent Sex, Watersports
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-05-05 00:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14604759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Try as he might, Loki isn't entirely successful in downplaying his connection to Thor when he drops onto Sakaar, and the Grandmaster gives him a choice: have a living brother, and take care of hiseveryneed himself, or have a dead brother who requires no maintenance at all.Note re: the intersex!Loki label: I'm a trans dude under this umbrella myself, and the intersex label isn't used fetishistically. It's simply a part of how I portray Loki and his character.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Loxxlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loxxlay/gifts).



> Loki and Thor are _not_ attracted to one another in this fic, and their feelings toward one another are entirely fraternal. Please take note of this, as well as the various warnings stipulated above, before you continue with the fic.

Loki lets out a breathy little exhalation, his fingers gripping more tightly at the loose skirt hiked up around his thighs, and the Grandmaster laughs against the back of his neck. His breath is dazzlingly hot against the cool flesh of Loki’s skin, and Loki hates himself for enjoying this, _hates_ himself for burying himself as best he can in the pure sensation of it, doing his best to anchor himself in physicality just to keep himself from _thinking_.

“You know,” the Grandmaster purrs against the shell of Loki’s ear, and Loki feels his cold blood turn hot with abrupt fear, his eyes opening wide. The Grandmaster is still buried within his arse, Loki’s thighs spread achingly wide across the other man’s lap, and Loki’s breath hitches in his throat as the Grandmaster’s fingers draw slick over his cunt, dipping into the clenching heat and then teasing away again. Loki hates that voice, hates when the Grandmaster’s tone becomes syrupy and low, sonorous and affectionate – it means the Grandmaster has had an _idea_ , and Loki so hates his ideas. “I’ve been thinking.”

“In—” Loki gasps, his head tipping back as the Grandmaster adjusts the angle of his hips, and at the same time slides three fingers into him, his thumb pressed against the base of Loki’s cock, nearly dwarfing it, because as much as Loki _calls_ it that, it’s not much of a— “Indeed, Grandmaster? Do tell. I am on— _Agh._ Tenterhooks.” As much as there are benefits to physicality, there are drawbacks, too. The Grandmaster doesn’t like for Loki to think _too much_ , but it is precisely when he wants Loki not to think that Loki needs to think the most, needs to analyse the situation, weigh up the pros and cons. Loki focuses his seiðr within himself, attempting to numb himself the building pleasure, the pressure, within him, attempting to rise above it and just _listen_.

“Well, that _guy_ , you know the one. Sparkles?”

“Sparkles?” Loki repeats, baffled, and then realisation comes. “ _Oh_. What of him, Grandmaster?” Even as he speaks, he wishes he could see the older man’s face, see his expression – the Grandmaster can act, of course, but much of his baser desire will show on the lines of his face, but less so when his mouth is at Loki’s neck and jaw and the back of his ear, less so when Loki can’t _see_ him. He stares between his own legs instead, seeing the shift of the Grandmaster’s cock as he thrusts up and into Loki, sees his lips spread wide at the press of the Grandmaster’s fingers inside him, sees his own cock, _twitching_ at the stimulation.

“You’re doing that thing again,” the Grandmaster murmurs, disapprovingly, and in a second Loki’s seiðr-strong shield, detaching him from the pleasure of his body, is dashed to pieces, and Loki is crying out, feeling the sudden heat within him once more, feeling the rub of the Grandmaster’s fingers against the spongy circle of tissue deep within his cunt, and Loki is sobbing out desperate little sounds, all but squirming in the other man’s lap. The sudden heat against his back, from the Grandmaster’s chest, and the fingernails digging into his left hip, are just too much alongside the pressure within him, against him. “I hate it when you split yourself off from what I’m, ha, what I’m doing for ya, Lo-Lo—”

 _You’re not doing it for me,_ Loki wants to argue, even as the Grandmaster’s fingers curl within him and he feels he will shake it apart, _You’re doing it for you. It’s always for you_.

Loki comes in a haze of bright colours, feeling the Grandmaster’s incandescent heat within him, feeling himself _clench_ around his curling fingers, and when the Grandmaster spends inside him, he feels the very heat of it cool his freezing walls, so different to how sex once was, when the illusion of the Casket so cleanly masked the truth of his body, so changed his very essence.

Breathing heavily and feeling the wet heat of the Grandmaster within him, unnatural in the scheme of his cold body, he lets the Grandmaster lower him down onto the sofa in a parody of gentleness, but Loki knows better than to trust. Oh, he wishes he could, wishes he could give himself over entirely over to the other man’s endless pleasures, but this is an _Elder_ , and he might take it upon himself to take Loki apart at any moment. Better to be an obedient _pet_ , pampered and pleasured, much as it disgusts him, than to be a tortured captive. “I was thinking,” the Grandmaster starts again, and his fingers curl slowly into Loki’s hair, making Loki softly sigh and lean into the touch like the pathetic thing he is, “about Sparkles. He’s just… Ha, I dunno what it _is_ , Kiki, I just think he’s the coolest little thing I’ve ever seen.”

The Grandmaster’s other hand lands flat against Loki’s chest, tracing the marble-white, hard skin, and Loki looks up at him through lidded eyes, his jaw slack. Where is this going? What is the Grandmaster _angling_ at him?

“I suppose the sparks were— Different,” he says, finally. Why would Thor land here, upon Sakaar? Loki is _finally_ onto a sort-of good thing, settled in the lap of a crazed dictator and filing away what little snippets of power and magic he can pilfer, and here Thor has to muscle into his delicately laid traps, ruining everything. “I hardly see why you should ask me, Grandmaster: the man is all but a stranger.”

The Grandmaster’s lips quirk into a little smile, his teeth showing between his lips. “Really? I mean, even _adopted_ brothers – you, ha, you gotta be some kinda close, right?”

“Hardly,” Loki murmurs, his gaze flitting downwards as the Grandmaster thumbs playfully over one of his nipples. “Grandmaster, I have lived a hundred lives, many of them far away from Asgard. Under the name of Aspling in the Lei Nebula, I have nine hundred and ninety-nine brothers, with as much blood relation to me as Thor has – do you truly think he could matter so much to me?” It is both a lie and a truth at once. Indeed, Loki holds that name, and indeed, he is the last of one thousand brothers, but the connection between them all could never compare to the bond he has with Thor - star-forged and ancient, despite the betrayals that run between them.

Loki feels it best not to reveal that point.

“No,” the Grandmaster says, mildly. He still has that smile on his face, and Loki cannot quite shake the feeling he has mistepped, that he has misjudged the Grandmaster’s intentions somewhat. Was that the wrong thing to say? “I guess you’re… I guess you’re right, honeybunch. Sparkles – ha, _Thor_ , is it? – ain’t so special compared to, uh, all the other guys in your life…”  But. But, but, but, it’s coming, it’s coming— “ _So_ ,” the Grandmaster says, and Loki feels his slow-beating heart beat the slightest bit faster, “You wouldn’t mind if I… Haha. You know.”

“If you…?” Understanding comes to Loki in an uncomfortable cloud. “Oh. I see.” He glances away, taking in a slow breath. More than _blundered_ into Loki’s plans – Thor has damned him. “My apologies, Grandmaster,” he murmurs, “I have displeased you, that you would seek another, if there’s anything I can—”

“Ah ah ah,” the Grandmaster interrupts him, the fingers curled in his hair sinking lower to press against Loki’s lips. “I didn’t, ha, I didn’t say I’d be kicking you to the _curb_ , kitten. Just that I’d kinda like to bring Thor to the table. Or, uh, more accurately, to the bed.” Nausea makes itself known in the base of Loki’s bifurcated stomach, and he swallows hard as bile rises in his throat.

“Grandmaster,” he begins, his tone as slick and convincing as he can make it, but the Grandmaster’s fingers grip the sides of Loki’s jaw, silencing him quite astutely.

“One out of a _thousand_ brothers,” he points out, almost gleefully, his golden eyes shining with the weight of his mischief, “It wouldn’t— Ha, it wouldn’t mean a thing, right? Besides. You’re adopted.” Loki resists the urge to bite down on his lip, or worse, to become angry, to become incensed, upset.

“Nonetheless, Grandmaster, perhaps I might please you in another—”

“Are you telling me _no_ , Lokes?” the Grandmaster asks in a whisper, and Loki feels his heart skip a beat. The Grandmaster’s expression has frozen, a mask of _not-quite-there_ delight, his hand suddenly very hot indeed against Loki’s chest, and Loki hesitates. “People don’t say _no_ to me very often, sweet thing. I just, ha, I just don’t know how I’d react if somebody _did._ ”

Not positively, Loki would wager. But—

“Grandmaster,” he says softly. _He’s my brother. We have a complicated relationship, but not so complicated as to become abruptly incestuous. I thought he was dead, he thought I was dead, how can you— “_ Anything to please you.”

The Grandmaster grins, and weakly, Loki smiles back.

By the _Norns_. What has he done?

Ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ Ϟ

The days are short on Sakaar.

Being as he is a traveller in the oddity of the universe, Loki is well-used to the different lengths of day from one planet to the next – on Asgard, it takes some forty hours for the planet to complete its revolution about the sun, and subsequently the days are very long indeed. Upon Midgard, a day and night is quick to pass indeed – in only twenty four hours, how short a day Loki had thought it! Here, upon Sakaar?

An even twenty.

The day lasts fifteen hours, the night only five, and there never seems to be enough time in the day for Loki, who is so well-used to taking his time with his schemes of a day, so well-used to working himself to patience.

( _And yet how he remembers Thanos’ grip upon his mind, his fingers spreading their influence over him, driving him to madness, driving his skin to incandescent heat, making him thirst for blood, and rage, and glory._

_“Asgard or Earth? Choose one.”_

_“Unhand me.”_

_“Choose.”_

_“Unh—agh—“)_

“Loki,” the Grandmaster murmurs, touching his temple, as if to push away the very thought of Thanos, possessive even over Loki’s mind. “When you think of him, pretty thing, you— Ha, you do it so _loudly_.”

“My apologies, Grandmaster,” Loki murmurs softly, and he feels the _burn_ and crumble of Thanos’ influence from his mind anew, helped along by the ancient hiss of the Grandmaster’s ineffable magic, so little-used and yet so inexpressibly massive in power compared to Loki’s own. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, I know, little cat,” the Grandmaster murmurs, his tone nearly a _coo_ , and Loki feels as if he really _is_ a pet, settled as he is in the older man’s lap, the Grandmaster’s fingers playing over his temple and curling in his hair. It has been days now since he had broached the subject of Thor, short days but days nonetheless, and Loki knows not what his game is: perhaps he intends to leave Loki so desperate to know _when_ the fell swoop will come that he will ask, and thus prompt the punishment himself; perhaps he is waiting for Loki to forget entirely, so that he can feel doubly stupid when Thor arrives out of the blue.

Loki wishes, sometimes, that the Grandmaster would keep him buried in a haze of pleasure and pain at all times. The thinking would not be quite so exhausting – particularly not when the Grandmaster can hear anything that comes to his mind _anyway_ , Loki’s telepathic shields be damned. Loki knows all too well how the Grandmaster plays with him, how little his fantasies of power truly mean.

The Grandmaster is smiling at him, batting his painted eyelashes.

Loki responds with a tired frown.

“What, no more play-acting?” he asks, softly, his tone _almost_ serious. “You can’t have, you can’t have grown _bored_ of it so soon. Are you giving up?” The Grandmaster leans in, his breath a warm, wet ghost over Loki’s lips. “Are you, ha, are you _letting go_?”

“Pray, Grandmaster,” Loki says airily, in a princely tone, and he forces the quake from his voice, “Must we spend yet another _day_ before the arena? It grows tiresome, seeing Thor win match after match.” The Grandmaster’s lips twitch.

“Would you, ha, would you rather see him lose?” Loki’s mouth drops open.

“No,” he says hurriedly, “No, no, I merely—” He is cut off by the door opening, and there stands Thor, still dressed in his armours (although without his helmet and weapons) and sweating from the match previous. Blood is spattered on his chest and newly in his hair, and his eyes settle on Loki.

“Brother,” he says, moving forward, reaching for him, and Loki freezes, expecting a blow, but Thor only wraps his arms tightly about him. Loki sighs, letting the other man pull him close, and he notices the way Thor stiffens – had he forgotten so soon, Loki wonders, how cold Loki runs now? How frozen and stiff is his flesh, Jötunn in every way but colour? Thor does his best not to show his discomfort, his _disgust_ , in his face, but Loki can see the curl of his lips and the furrow of his brows. “Are you well?”

“Worse off, for having Axilii blood upon my skirts,” Loki says dispassionately, even as a burst of seiðr dissolves the red stains from both of their clothes at once. He turns his head, looking to the Grandmaster, who is smiling, leaning against the back of the wide sofa that allows them to look over the arena – Loki had moved to stand once Thor had appeared in the doorway, but he is happier reclining, it seems. “Grandmaster,” Loki starts, but the Grandmaster tuts at him, moving a stern index finger from one side to the other.

“Oh, don’t ruin it, Lo-Lo. Lord of Thunder, why don’t you take off those dirty clothes? I have some clean ones just, ha, waiting for ya.” Thor’s blond brows furrow, and Loki feels anxiety pool in his belly – surely, _surely_ , he will not resist? Surely he knows better by now than to refuse the Grandmaster to his face?

“Here?” Thor asks, glancing between Loki and the Grandmaster both.

“Oh, ha, you’re _right_ ,” the Grandmaster purrs, tapping one long, clever finger against the strip of blue paint upon his chin. “There’s no, ah, no attendants here, no one to undress you. And you’re a, you’re a prince, right? Used to that kinda thing?”

“King,” Thor corrects. Loki winces.

“Princes, kings… Same thing. _Loki_ ,” the Grandmaster says, his gaze sliding from Thor to Loki himself, and Loki feels his chest ache. “Why don’t you undress him?” Thor’s eyes widen in alarm, and he takes a step back from his brother.

“That’s not necessary,” he says, one hand flattened out, his palm to Loki. “I can undress myself.” Loki presses his lips together, giving a sideways glance in the Grandmaster’s direction, but he doesn’t seem to be feeling merciful. Ignoring Thor’s protest entirely, he gives Loki a delicate wave of his hand, as if to say, _Go on, then._ Steeling himself, Loki takes a slow step forward, pushing Thor’s hand aside.

“ _Loki!”_ Thor hisses, scandalised, and he makes to take another step backward, but Loki grabs hold of his armour.

“Would you have me bind you with seiðr?” Loki asks, his gaze intent. _Already, I must debase myself before you, making nude my very own brother, and you would have me be the holder of your chains? Absolve yourself, surely, of any part in this, and leave me all the more disgraced?_ Thor might not be able to read Loki’s thoughts, heavy in his mind though they are, but perhaps he sees the trapped note in Loki’s face, the face of a captive with no way out. Thor’s Adam’s Apple bobs in his throat, and Loki lays his trembling hands on the left buckle of Thor’s shoulder, delicately undoing it and pushing it aside before his hands move to the right. It isn’t truly a cape, the dash of red fabric that hangs at Thor’s shoulder, too small to be named that – it is simply an accent, and as the second buckle comes undone, it falls to the ground in a heap of bloodied fabric.

Loki’s fingers, even shaking, make quick work of the buckles and belts that hold the carapace on, and he draws the thing away, passing it wordlessly to the attendant waiting to take it from him. Loki undoes the laced fastenings that keep the leather under-piece in place, and he undoes the cloth lining at the same time, setting each aside until his brother stands shirtless before him, dirt and filth caking the side of his torso, the thick hair on his chest dark with old sweat.

“Mmm,” the Grandmaster hums, quietly. “So much _hair._ You know, Lo-Lo doesn’t have any hair at all. Guess he really is, ha, guess he really is adopted.” Thor is breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, and Loki sees the tense in his jaw and the clench of his fist, but he remains in control, remains _still_. He has grown much as the years have rolled over their heads. “Go on then, Lokes. The shoes.” Loki’s eyes close for just a second, and he inhales, slowly.

Then he sinks to his knees.

He unlaces each of the sandals, undoing the work of binding that curves around Thor’s ankles, and the Grandmaster’s laugh is quiet and condescending. Against the Hulk, Thor had worn heavy armoured boots, but he has been fighting fleeter subjects as of late, and now wears lighter shoes to ease his dance about the arena. “You done this before, huh?”

“I was an attendant to the gladiatorial wing of Queen Martas of the Galaxxus Empire, Grandmaster,” Loki says quietly, carefully drawing the left sandal away. He feels Thor’s questioning gaze staring into the back of his head.

“Thought you were a gardener.”

“That was under Queen Kith, some one thousand years later, Grandmaster.” He moves to reach for Thor’s second sandal, and Thor’s form is yet stiffer than before: when Loki glances up, he sees Thor’s expression is twisted into a half-snarl – that the Grandmaster, a stranger, a despot, should know more of Loki’s history than Thor himself. Loki turns back to the sandal’s lacing, and wishes it was more complicated than it is.

“Uh huh,” he says. “And how much does, uh, Sparkles here _know_ about what you did when you weren’t in Asgard, huh?”

“Very little,” Thor mutters. Loki does not imagine the bitterness in his tone – with regularity Loki would disappear from Asgard, away from the realm for months at a time, sometimes years, decades even. He would always return in the end, but he would never speak of where he had been. Thrice, after long periods indeed, Thor had rode the solar winds with Mjölnir as his sail, and he had sought Loki out, brought him home. Thrice only. Loki had disappeared a hundred times.

“ _Aw_ ,” the Grandmaster coos, “he’s _upset_ , Lo-Lo. Why’d you, ha, why have you gotta be so mean to your big brother? Tell him you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry, brother,” Loki whispers, drawing the second sandal away.

“Ah ah ah. He’s your _king_ , isn’t he?” Loki feels the humiliation bubble in his chest, the shame, the desperate wish that he could crumble into dust right here, but if he protests, if he lashes out, even if he _hesitates_ over much— Who is to say what the Grandmaster will do to him? More important, who is to say what the Grandmaster will do to _Thor_?

“My apologies, your majesty,” Loki says, and he knows what is coming before it exits the Grandmaster’s blue-streaked lips.

“Kiss his feet.”

Loki bows his head, touching his lips to each of Thor’s feet, his nose brushing against the other man’s ankles, and he feels the _filth_ of the arena against his mouth, tastes sand and blood and sweat and gore, and he forces himself not to breathe until he leans back upon his heels. He stands, slowly, and begins to unlace the bindings of Thor’s leather breeches, which are light now that the metal skirt above them has been drawn away.

“You’ve really done this before?” Thor asks, his voice a rumble. He has forced away the anger and irritation from his blue eyes, now: Loki can see he’s trying to distract Loki from his task, trying to stop his little brother from _thinking_ , but how could he know? How could he know how _wrong_ a road to travel this is, when Loki is powerless to warm him? “How many times?”

“A thousand times,” Loki mutters, as if brushing the question off. _Change the subject, please, just change the subject to something else_. The Grandmaster is watching them hungrily as Loki crouches the undo the rest of the lace fastenings on the leather breeches.

“What were your duties?” Thor asks. “As attendant?” Loki closes his eyes tightly, and the Grandmaster _laughs_ , the sound ringing around the room. The waitstaff, and even the guards chuckle quietly, and Loki suppresses the urge to cry, or to burn Thor with magic, or to flee. Loki stands, pulling the leather breeches away from Thor’s body and bearing his thighs and calves to the warm air ( _too warm_ ) of the arena’s viewing room. Thor wears a steel cup over light briefs, and Loki swallows as he passes the breeches away.

“I would dress and undress the champion, occasionally assisting other contestants,” Loki murmurs quietly. “Bathe them, bring them food and drink, clean the champion’s quarters. Offer my services as a masseuse, as— As something with which to relax.” Thor’s eyes widen, and Loki can see him open his mouth, close it. Loki clenches his fists at his sides.  

“Aw, aw, _aw_ , Loki,” the Grandmaster says, his tone chiding. “Don’t be such a _tease_. Take, ah, _Thor’s_ little codpiece off, and show him exactly what you used to do.”

“Grandmaster,” Loki says, desperately. “If there’s any other way in which I could—”

“You could bend over and let him, ah, let him fuck you,” the Grandmaster suggests in the mildest tone possible, as if suggesting a leisurely promenade before a picnic. “Would that be better?”

“No, Grandmaster.”

“Then, ha, then get _to_ it.”

“Grandmaster,” Thor begins, and Loki almost claps his hand over his brother’s mouth, but Thor’s hand catches his wrist, tightening his grip there, and Thor looks only at the Grandmaster, his face turned away from Loki. “Perhaps I might be permitted to bathe first? I’m filthy from the arena, and I should hate to—” He hesitates a second, and his tone is full of masculine ribaldry as he chuckles, and says, “Well, I should hate to dirty your favourite pet.” Loki feels himself stumble back as if struck, as far back as he can with Thor’s grip like a hot vice around his wrist, feels the bile rise in his throat, and the Grandmaster’s soft, amused sound is no doubt more prompted by his reaction than by the words of Thor himself. He knows it is but an act, Thor trying to delay the inevitable, but the words, the _tone_ , make him ache nonetheless.

“I like the way you _think_ , Sparkles.” It takes but an instant. Loki feels the way the magic _pops_ around him, feels the way the very universe continues to turn beneath their feet as they remain _still_ , and here they are. The Grandmaster’s bathing chambers are high-ceilinged and painted in his signature colours, blue and gold: the bath is made of black-and-white quartz marble, and already it is full to the brim with _steaming_ water. Loki stares at it, mournfully, watching the steam rise from broad bath, more like a small pool than anything else, and he feels the Grandmaster’s hand drag over his back.

“I know you like the water _cool_ , sweetheart, but this is about, ha, big brother Thor, isn’t it? You don’t want him to freeze, do you?”

“No, Grandmaster,” Loki says obediently. “Of course not.” The Grandmaster nudges Loki forwards, gesturing to the codpiece Thor wears, and Thor stiffens as Loki unlaces it and sets it aside with a quiet _clink_ of steel on the tiled floor, then drawing Thor’s briefs down to his ankles. Thor is… Well-endowed. On some vague level, Loki had known this – Thor had often bragged, when they were youths, to Volstagg and Fandral of how their size did not compare to his own, and Loki had seen Thor run nude through the hallways on some bet or another, seen him bathe alongside the other warriors in the streams and lakes about Asgard. Loki had always quietly made his excuses, avoided being seen with any fewer of his clothes than he had to be, but Thor—

Thor has ever been unashamed.

“Get in the water, Sparkles,” the Grandmaster orders, and Thor hesitates, looking to Loki in askance, before he obeys. Despite the pressure of the situation, he lets out a soft sigh as he sinks into the hot water, no doubt feeling it dig into his aching muscles, soothing any aches and pains he must have. “Get those, uh, pretty little clothes off, Lo-Lo.” Slowly, Loki starts with the buckle of his cape.

Evidently, the Grandmaster has grown tired of not hearing his own voice, so as Loki undresses, he says, “Ha, you _know_ , Sparkles, me and Lo-Lo… We’ve had such chats. He’s lived the weirdest little life, ya know? Told me all about all kindsa lives he’s lived, on different planets, all sorts of adventures… Never mentioned Asburg.”

“Asgard,” Thor corrects. The Grandmaster ignores him.

“Never mentioned a _Thor_. Kept that, ha, kept that all to his pretty little self. But, ah, you know what he _did_ tell me about?” the Grandmaster is leaning over the side of the bath, his mouth so close to the back of Thor’s neck, now bare of his long, thick hair, that Thor can no doubt feel his breath. Loki’s jacket falls to the ground. He doesn’t bother to fold it and put it aside.

“What?” Thor asks.

“When he, uh, fell off this rainbow bridge, he told me this _awful_ secret got all revealed. ‘Cause you know me, I’m a thorough guy, huh? And I couldn’t help but notice that, uh, while on the outside he looks like one of you Æsir, on the inside, he’s, ah, he’s gooey in all the wrong ways. For one? Purple blood! And he’s meant to be in the red. For two, he’s so _chilly_ – I admit, it’s a turn-on. For three—” the Grandmaster’s hand is sliding over Thor’s shoulder, and Thor is looking at the hand like he’s about to bite it off, “No hair at all once you, uh, go past his nose. I love that. So… Artistic.” Loki slides out of his trousers, dragging off the cloth undershirt he wears. He doesn’t wear underwear, and so he stands, naked of everything but the magic that keeps his skin white, pale, and unscarred. Thor’s gaze flits downward as he looks at his brother, and Loki stands very still as Thor’s stare settles between his legs. “Oh, _that_ was a secret too, huh?” the Grandmaster purrs in Thor’s ear. “Stars, Sparkles, how many secrets has he kept from you?” The Grandmaster nods for Loki to get into the bath, and Loki does, reaching for a sponge on the side of the bath. Pouring soap over its blue surface, he comes closer to Thor where he’s sat on the bench at the side of the bath (it’s nearly six feet deep in the centre), and he begins to scrub at Thor’s skin. His nose, ever more sensitive since the Casket stripped away all but the aesthetic implications of Odin’s enchantment, wrinkles at the stench of his brother, and he is glad despite himself that Thor made this suggestion. Thor’s skin turns from a spattered red and dark brown to a golden brown instead, tanned from long hours under an Asgardian sun, and Thor relaxes under the touch of the sponge, even though it is Loki who holds it.

Filth mars the water, turning it brown and landing in grit and sand against the white basin of the bath, but Loki does his best to ignore it, instead focusing on the body before him. The heat of the water makes it feel like he is boiling from the inside, tingling over his cool skin and making him shiver. Loki has never sweated, even as a child, but now he wishes he could, just to make him feel less _awfully_ hot.

Loki’s seiðr burns some of the filth from the water, leaving the water clean again and making it crackle, and then Loki takes a jug, pouring water over his brother’s head and digging his fingers through the caked, short hair. Thor seems so small without the thick, blond locks about his head, and Loki drags his fingernails a little more viciously through the caked filth, shoving Thor down toward the water in order to drag the stubborn dirt away. Thor hisses in pain and discomfort, but he lets Loki do it, lets Loki’s seiðr pry the stuff away from his skin.

The Grandmaster seems content to watch, his elbows leaning against the edge of the quartz tub, his lips quirked into a small smile, and Loki feels his belly flip within his gut. He stares down in the water at the thick length between his brother’s thighs, and he wonders if it really is a choice. If he sucks Thor into his mouth, into his throat, feels his brother’s length pulse upon his tongue—

Will that spare him the horror of having it split him open?

The Grandmaster smiles wider, and Loki scrubs all the harder at Thor’s sides. It takes some minutes, the only sound the soft _splash_ of water as Loki sponges away the clinging nastiness on his brother’s skin, and when Thor moves to try to help him, the Grandmaster prevents him, one of his hands settling hot on Thor’s neck. “You’re a _King_ , buddy,” he says lowly. “Let the lowly, _ha_ , the lowly servant do the work, huh?”

The plug in the bath tub’s centre slips away, vanishing into the ether, and the water begins to drain. Slowly, slowly, it whirlpools about their chests, then their waists, then down around their knees and ankles, until the last of it slips away with a hollow gurgle in the drain. “Do that little trick ya showed me, Lo-Lo. Dry yourself off – him too.” Moisture comes away from him and Thor alike as so much steam, and Thor hisses at the feel of the sudden warmth upon his flesh, leaving him dry. Loki moves to the edge of the bath, to clamber out, but the Grandmaster tuts.

“Oh, no, no, _no_ , Lo-Lo. Thor here, he, ha, he _asked_ for a bath. So you can blow him right here.” Loki looks down at the hard surface of the bath’s floor. “Mmm, looks like it’s gonna be rough on your knees, huh? Guess he’s one of those _mean_ kings.”

“Grand— Grandmaster,” Thor begins, turning his head: his hands are clenched into fists beside his bare thighs, and his voice is shaky as he rushes out the words. “This is hardly necessary. Why don’t _I_ please _you_?”

“You know, I figured he’d have all the sneak in the family,” the Grandmaster says indulgently, his chin rested upon his hand, his fingers playing against the blue paint there. “But you, you’re making a real go of it, huh, sunshine? Get on your knees, Loki.” Slowly, Loki obeys. He feels the cold of the quartz against his feet and his knees, feels its unrelenting hardness, pressing hard against his joints, but at least it is not _hot_ , as the water had been. It is cold, _very_ cold, and that is soothing in its own way.

Loki lays his hands on Thor’s knees, and he stares at his brother’s cock, his lips parted, as he does his best to soothe the nausea in his belly. _What is worse? Sucking a cock, or letting your brother die? Letting him be slaughtered in front of you? Letting the Grandmaster kill you both?_

It’s just a cock. It’s just his mouth.

Loki bows his head.

Ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ Ϟ

Thor’s mind is awash with violent imagery: he imagines tearing the Grandmaster’s smug head from his very shoulders, spraying the room in blood and viscera and gore, imagines crushing his skull between his palms as Thor once shattered the Jötunn skull of the smith that built the walls of Asgard, imagines ripping his very flesh from his bones.

But the Grandmaster commands such power, such power as Thor has never seen ( _barring in Hela)_ and if Loki is submitting to him, if _Loki_ is doing such awful, awful things, then he must be even more powerful than Thor can see already.

And Loki, Loki, Loki—

Why can Thor not think of anything _but_ Loki? Isn’t his mind full enough with losing his hammer, his father, his realm behind him, thinking of whatever horror Hela might be wreaking at this very moment, isn’t it _enough_?

The Grandmaster has sown the seeds of doubt within him. He thinks of the life they lived on Asgard, years and years ago, thinks of the way that Loki would occasionally just be _gone_. Bed made. Bedroom empty. Horse stabled with a friend. And Loki would be elsewhere, hidden in a haze of seiðr from every searching eye except Heimdall’s, who would refuse to say where he was.

( _“Why will you never tell me where you go? Is it so shameful?”_

_“It isn’t shame, Thor. It’s private.”_

_“Why go? Why abandon me? Do you truly despise me so much?”_

_“It is Asgard that despises me, Thor,” Loki had said, and the words had cut through Loki like so many of his poisoned daggers. “Would you really deny me the chance to escape it for a while?)_

But he has told the Grandmaster. He has told the Grandmaster his stories, his secrets, and not Thor – why trust this _monster_ , and not Thor himself? How could he do that? _How_?

It isn’t fair of him. Thor knows it isn’t fair, knows that the Grandmaster has pushed it forward only to convince Thor of Loki’s position here, and Loki… Thor can read his brother. He might be blind to his betrayals, sometimes, but he is not blind to other emotions that show in Loki’s face. He sees the fear and shame shine in Loki’s eyes, sees the twist of his brother’s desperate lip, sees the flush of lilac high in his cheeks, and _oh_ , lilac. Not red, as once his brother’s blushes had been: now purple, like his Jötunn blood.

Thor thinks of Loki alone in the ether, in whatever dread hole he had been in when he fell ( _fell? He threw himself down)_ from the Bifrost, coming to terms with his un-Æsir body, working his way through his new blood, new bones, new make-up.

Thor hadn’t been there.

And then Loki had been locked up, trapped with just himself, and—

Thor stares down at Loki. Loki’s jaw is set, his blue eyes dull, and the lilac flush is spread over his cheeks, colouring his lips. He’s staring at Thor’s cock as if it’s the worst thing he’s ever seen in the world, and Thor feels like he may burst into tears at any moment, feels as if electricity may crackle from his fingertips and fry the room at large, and Thor cannot stand it, cannot stand the idea of _sullying_ his brother, and yet—

It’s better than seeing the Grandmaster kill him. Torture him. See Loki hurting, _really_ hurting – Thor’s seen enough of that.

Loki’s fingers are cold where they touch against his knees, pushing against his thighs, and Thor can’t help the soft, sharp groan that escapes him as Loki ghosts cool air over his length, freezing cold with moisture. His mouth can’t possibly be that cold, that wet, but when Loki’s tongue slides slick from the base of Thor’s cock all the way to its tip, Thor is astonished, _blown away_ , by how good the freezing touch feels, and he shouldn’t like it, shouldn’t _want_ it, not when this is his brother, his brother, his _brother_ —

Two years is a long time to go untouched. His body betrays him.

His fists clenched as tightly as they can be at his sides, he stares down at Loki, unmoving, his jaw clenched shut: he knows he has a habit of speaking unwisely under pressure, and he’s doing his best to say as little as he can, to just withstand that which the Grandmaster is forcing between them, but he wishes he could say, _I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I know I’m growing hard, but it isn’t because I want this, isn’t because I want to hurt you_ —

Loki’s lips, thin and soft, part around Thor’s cockhead, and Thor lets out a rumbling groan, feeling his brother’s tongue play over the slit. He shouldn’t be aroused at this, the disgust alone should _ruin_ his erection, and yet there it stands. He feels the blood flowing downwards, feels the flesh grow taut and sensitive, feels even a burst of precome burst from within his twitching head.

Loki recoils just slightly, his brow furrowing: there is slick, transparent fluid clinging to his lips, and his tongue – so thin and clever, made of chaste silver – flicks out to clean it away. “I’m sorry,” Thor whispers.

“Oh, there’s no need to be _sorry_ , big fella,” the Grandmaster murmurs, and then his hands – so hot compared to Loki’s freezing touch – are on Thor’s shoulders again, sliding lower and over his chest. “He loves it. Tell him you love it, Lo-Lo.”

“I love it,” Loki says, woodenly. The Grandmaster clucks his tongue, disapproving.

“Oh, you’re gonna, ha, you’re gonna hurt his feelings like that, kitten. Take him in your mouth. The whole thing.” Loki’s eyes open, and Thor sees the _torture_ in them as he looks right up into Thor’s face, his eyes locking with the Grandmaster’s. He and the Grandmaster are cheek to cheek, and he feels the Grandmaster’s smooth skin against the scruff of his beard, even as the Grandmaster’s fingers seek out his nipples and tug on them, playing with the buds amidst their nests of blond hair.

“I can’t,” Loki whispers. “It’s too big.” An invisible knife makes itself known, twisting in Thor’s gut.

“You can do it, honey,” the Grandmaster purrs, and Loki stares down at Thor’s cock, standing steadily upright and as thick as Loki’s wrist, as if it is a monster to be slain. Thor has always been proud of the size of his length – now? He despises it. “Don’t lie just to get out of a little hard work. Even, ha, even _Thor_ here knows what a little slut you are.” Thor stiffens, and the Grandmaster tightens his pinch against each of Thor’s nipples, making him grit his teeth and moan, softly at the sudden pleasure-pain. Thor stares, unable to look away, as Loki laves his tongue over the edge of Thor’s head, playing at the edges of his foreskin, lapping at it, and his tongue is so, _so_ cold—

Loki’s mouth wraps around Thor’s cock, and he begins to lower his head. Thor chokes, doing everything he can to keep from bucking his hips into that all-enveloping chill, slick as anything, and the Grandmaster is right, much as Thor hates it – he slides down on Thor’s cock, relaxing his throat and taking Thor right into it, until he can feel the twitch of Loki’s gullet around his cockhead, feel Loki’s sharp nose pressed amidst his pubic hair, feel Loki’s prominent chin pressed cool against his balls.

“Hold him there,” the Grandmaster whispers in Thor’s ear, so quietly that Loki doubtless cannot hear him, and before Loki can pull back upon his heels, Thor tangles his hand in Loki’s hair, prevents him from moving, keeping him pressed tight against Thor’s body, his cheek cool against Thor’s thigh. He feels Loki choke, feels the hideously good vibration as he moans his protest, and he grips all the tighter at Loki’s hair, preventing him from pulling away.

“You don’t need to breathe,” he reminds his brother, softly. “You are a _god_ : you don’t need to breathe.” Loki lets out the most pitiful sound, but it vibrates oh-so-perfectly against his cockhead, his length, Loki’s fat tongue flat against the underside of Thor’s cock, and he feels his cock give a powerful pulse, so much so that Loki’s eyes burst open.

He stares up at Thor, absolutely wrecked, and this is the moment where the Grandmaster murmurs, “Fuck his mouth.”

“Grandmaster,” Thor whispers, and the Grandmaster’s fingers are running playful circles over Thor’s pectoral muscles, his fingernails occasionally flicking over the edge of his nipples. The heated touch is at such odds with the freezing throat Thor is buried in that it drives Thor insane, and he wishes, just for a second, wishes he could forget whose mouth was pressed against his cock, whose tongue he was abusing—

He cannot. There are tears on Loki’s cheeks.

“Do it hard,” the Grandmaster whispers. “This is, ha, this is what he _wants_ , Sparkles. You know how many secrets he’s shared with me? Even secrets about _you_.” Thor feels his heart beat faster in his chest, feels heat rise in his chest. Fear, shame, humiliation, all at once: “He used to touch himself at night, press fingers inside that, uh, that delicious little hole of his and _wish_ it was his big brother’s hammer—” There is magic playing from the Grandmaster’s fingers, heating Thor from within, and he feels himself malleable and played easily between his hands, and yet the magic, that mind-magic… It is too much to resist.

Loki is moaning, his expression wretched, trying to shake his head despite being speared open by Thor’s cock, and Thor feels disgusted rage bubble up with him, feels himself _snarl_. “I’m your _brother_ ,” he wants to growl, “How could you think those things about me?” His grip on Loki’s hair is so tight now that he can see his knuckles turning white, and he thrusts his cock forward, hearing the soft, wet _kuh_ of his length in Loki’s mouth, his cheeks hollowed desperately around him. He pulls back, seeing the slick and drool that comes from Loki’s slack jaw, dripping onto Thor’s thighs, and he snaps his waist back, making Loki nearly scream around him as his throat is invaded once again.

“Icky, huh?” the Grandmaster murmurs. “Your baby brother, whoring himself out— Whoring himself out to anybody who showed an interest… And all because he had an itch _you_ wouldn’t scratch.” Thor is fucking Loki’s throat in earnest now, and Loki is sobbing around his cock, sobbing as if it isn’t what he’s always wanted, sobbing as if he hasn’t craved this for three thousand years.

Is that why he’d left so often? Is that why he’d gone? Because he knew that Thor would refuse him, that Thor would think him disgusting, and ugly, for wanting something so _wrong_?

 _He was right to_ , growls the part of Thor’s mind that sounds like Odin, and Thor buries himself to the hilt, feeling his cock twitch, feeling the pressure build within him. “Touch his balls, sweetie, touch ‘em.” Loki’s fingers are between Thor’s legs, playing over his balls – and how eagerly he’d moved to touch them, how desperately, how much he _fucking_ wants this—

Thor feels the storm crackle within him, and he doesn’t hear Loki’s muffled cry of fear so much as he feels it around his cock, even as he fucks his brother’s face as hard as he can, forcing more fat tears out of Loki’s eyes to roll down his purple cheeks.

When Thor comes, it is with a roar of thunder, electricity crackling in the air around them, and Loki is completely still as Thor’s cock pulses within him, his balls drawing up tight in his palm, his come sliding easily down Loki’s throat. Thor rolls his hips smoothly, slowly, against Loki’s face, and when he releases the other man’s hair, Loki falls back, coughing against the side of his arm, Thor’s spend painted on his lips and coming away from his chin.

Thor reaches out to touch his shoulder, but Loki smacks his hand away, so hard that frost forms on Thor’s forearm, and he hisses in pain. “Don’t you _touch_ me,” Loki hisses at him, and for the barest second, his eyes are red. He pulls himself out of the bath, reaching for a towel to wipe his mouth, and Thor watches as the Grandmaster moves toward him, the Grandmaster’s hand sliding carefully over Loki’s jaw. Loki is looking at the Grandmaster with undisguised hatred and disgust, and he says, “ _Really?_ ”

“What?” the Grandmaster asks, seeming amused. “You can hardly— Sweetheart, you can’t blame _me_ for him believing me. Obviously you gave out some, uh, pretty incestuous vibes. He obviously felt you were, _ha_ , in need of some brotherly love.”

Loki gags, and the back of his hand goes to his mouth, and all at once, whatever tingling magic, _deception_ , that the Grandmaster had woven through Thor’s head is gone. Thor has simply raped his brother’s mouth, filled it to the brim…

And Loki hated him the whole time.

“Loki,” Thor begins, but Loki raises his hand.

“Would you have me do this again?” Loki asks, quietly. His gaze is not on Thor, but on the Grandmaster’s face, and the Grandmaster chuckles softly before he leans in. His lips close over Loki’s, tongue flicking over his spend-stained lips, and Thor watches in disgust at the way his brother melts under that proprietary touch, as if he is little more than the Grandmaster’s willing property.

“You choose, Lo-Lo,” the Grandmaster murmurs against Loki’s lips as he pulls away. “Would you rather have a, ha, a _living_ brother that you have to, um, how do I put this delicately— Oh, yeah, that’s great. _Take care of_ , yourself? Or would you rather have a brother that, uh, doesn’t need any taking care of at all?” Loki looks at Thor, for the longest few moments. There are tear stains on his cheeks, and Thor feels guilt burn within him, guilt, _guilt_ , and shame. “Why don’t I, uh, leave you two to catch up, huh?” He grips Loki’s jaw, and from the way Loki winces, it must hurt. “One in a thousand, huh, sweet thing?” he asks softly, so softly Thor can scarcely hear him. “You think I’d fall for a lie like that?”

“Can’t blame a man for trying,” Loki mutters back, and the Grandmaster laughs, the sound heavy with affection.

“Sure can.” He slaps Loki’s backside as he leaves, and the ringing clap of it echoes off the bathroom walls.

Thor and Loki are left alone, each naked and breathing heavily.

“Deception like that cannot be built without foundation,” Loki says lowly, and his gaze is _damning_ where he looks at Thor. “You would believe that I should want you in so base a fashion? You would believe I _wanted_ that?”

“It was the magic, brother, I—” Thor trails off, hopeless. He feels his spent cock thick against his thigh, heavy and fat and sated, and he says, “He merely— Already, he had driven me to annoyance, flaunting secrets you had told him that you shared not with me.”

“So you jumped to the conclusion,” Loki says, dryly, venomously, “as anyone would, that your only _brother_ desired your cock?”

“It was the magic,” Thor repeats, desperately. Loki crumples, and he falls back against the sink in the corner, his hand on his face.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know.” Thor watches the way his brother’s chest slowly rises, slowly falls. “The benefit of this, I suppose, is that you will no longer be expected to fight in the arena.”

“You would speak of benefits?” Thor asks, unable to keep the irritation out of his tone – ever the conniving, his young brother. “This madman would have us _rape_ one another for his entertainment, and you would look for the silver lining?”

“What would you rather?” Loki asks, grimly. “That I slit my own throat and take you with me unto Hel? Hardly.” He shakes his head slowly, his blue eyes far away. Thor hates that he is right. Loki’s pragmatism is just that – pragmatism. More guilt twinges in Thor’s chest. “I might have submitted myself to his touch forevermore, but you’ve ruined everything. We need to escape.”

Thor stares at him. _Do you mean to say_ , he wants to ask, _that without my being here, you wouldn’t have tried? Forevermore?_

He doesn’t voice the question: he finds himself too scared of the answer.

They stand and sit like so, in silence, for a long, long time.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The party is busy.

Thor feels hesitant and strange in the clothes the Grandmaster had laid out for him: a tight, silken vest cut with a sharp v-neckline that clings to every line of muscle, shows the swell and trough of each of his abdominal muscles and his pectorals, so tight you can even see his _nipples_ through the fabric, and cloth leggings that cling to his thighs and calves. Hovering in the doorway, he looks around the room.

Last night, he had slept ill. The Grandmaster had settled him in comfortable, plush quarters, and despite the softness of his bed, the warmth of the blankets, he had tossed and turned. Neither he nor Loki had been in the mood to talk the night previous, and when the Grandmaster had arrived back, he had taken Loki with him, and left Thor alone in his new quarters.

It had been impossible not to worry as to what the Grandmaster was doing to Loki while Thor was sprawling alone on a comfortable bed. It had been impossible not to worry, not to tear at the damned sheets, when he lacked the arena to distract him, when he lacked any kind of distraction.

And perhaps that had been the point.

Thor looks over the room, seeking Loki out, and he sees him. Loki is standing amidst a group of laughing Ansari, a glass of sparkling black wine in his left hand, and seiðr dances in the palm of his right hand, illustrating the story he is telling. Loki’s hair is pinned back with fine, golden chains and pins, and he wears a straight-falling, chiffon robe of shining, golden fabric.

He looks right at home among the Sakaarii, just as he had when Thor had first arrived. There are no lines of worry on his face, and his eyes are clear and bright: he looks happy and content, and comfortable.

He’s a better actor than Thor ever thought.

“Sparkles, you’re here!” the Grandmaster calls, and Thor’s head whips toward him. Already, the Grandmaster is smiling his maniacal grin, and he comes forward, reaching out: the backs of his knuckles brush warm against Thor’s cheek, and Thor swallows back the bile that rises in his throat. “You know, I have a seat _just_ for you. A throne!” The Grandmaster takes Thor by the hand, and Thor – powerless to do anything else – lets the Grandmaster lead him through the crowd.

The “throne” is gaudy and plush, bedecked in fine red fabric with its accents painted gold, and Thor glances down at his own red trousers before looking back to Loki in his chiffon gown. Had the Grandmaster dressed them both, he wonders, to match the furniture? It seems like something he’d do. The Grandmaster steps up onto the raised stone dais the throne sits in the centre of, and he pushes Thor to sit down. Immediately, leather straps wrap themselves around his ankles and his neck, keeping him pinned in place but keeping his arms free, and Thor hisses out a sound.

“You know,” the Grandmaster murmurs, his tone conspiratorial as he lays his hands on Thor’s knees, and Thor can’t help the way he flinches back. “You’re a lot of fun, you know that? And I, uh, I want you to show Lo-Lo here _just_ how fun you can be. He’s gonna sit in your lap, and you’re gonna, ha, you’re gonna make him feel good with your fingers. Now, I’m gonna, ha, I’m gonna give you a lot of leeway here, Sparkles. You can make him come, if you want. You can kiss his pretty little neck. But what you’re not allowed to do is stop. Your hands, or those fun little sparks, have to be on him at all times. You understand?”

“And if I don’t?” Thor asks. The question is out of his mouth before he can stop it, and the Grandmaster chuckles. There’s a deepness to his golden eyes that Thor had not noticed before, a horrifying infinity: when he looks into the Grandmaster’s eyes, he feels like they will surely send him into madness, and so he turns his head away.

“Well, if you don’t… I’ll take these straps off. Let you wander around the party as you please.” Thor hesitates, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and the Grandmaster bats his eyelashes.

“What happens to Loki?” he asks. “In that scenario?”

“To _Loki?_ ” A soft, amused sound. “Well, little Lo-Lo gets his little ass railed by those Nakomians over there until his insides are more like outsides.” Thor follows the Grandmaster’s gaze toward the Nakomians: bull men who are each twelve feet tall, stacked with muscle, and with lengths like tree trunks hanging freely between their legs. “But so long as _you_ don’t have to touch him, right? Here—” The Grandmaster reaches for the strap at Thor’s neck, but Thor catches his wrist.

“No,” Thor mutters. “I’ll do it.”

“See, I knew I could get you guys on board,” the Grandmaster purrs sweetly, and he pulls away. Thor watches as he walks over to Loki, leaning in and pulling him closer. Loki chuckles, softly, and he leans in toward the Grandmaster, one hand splayed over the Grandmaster’s chest, the other holding the wine glass in his other hand, and he looks like he enjoys the Grandmaster’s hand grabbing his backside through the robes, looks like he enjoys the Grandmaster’s voice in his ear—

Loki freezes. His jaw sets, and his eyes narrow. He says something to the Grandmaster; the Grandmaster spreads his hands, as if to say whatever it is, it isn’t his fault. Loki throws the wineglass down on the floor, hard, and it shatters with a burst of glass and black liquid – whatever’s in the glass hisses and steams where it meets the floor, and Thor looks on in horror. What had Loki been drinking? Some sort of _acid_?

The Grandmaster is tapping his fingers against his painted chin, looking at Loki as if he’s some sort of disobedient pet. Thor cannot hear the words, but he reads the words on the Grandmaster’s lips: _Really, kitten?_

Loki stalks away from the Grandmaster, coming toward Thor, and Thor wonders exactly how much power his brother has here. He talks back to the Grandmaster, and the Grandmaster seems to allow it – encourage it even – but he wonders how superficial that control is. How much Loki really _believes_ it.

Standing before him, one bare foot upon the dais, Loki clenches his fists at his sides, and he looks at Thor for a long few moments. “What did he threaten you with?” Loki asks, softly.

“You.”

“Ditto.” Swallowing, Loki slowly rises up onto the dais, and he turns stiffly, like a clockwork figure on a steel pin. He sinks slowly into Thor’s lap, and Thor feels his weight, feels his brother’s muscle and heft against his chest as Loki tries to adjust his position into something more comfortable, and then he lets out a harsh sound as his legs are wrenched apart: leather straps pin his ankles to the throne’s arms just as Thor’s own ankles are held in place, but Loki is spread wide, the position open and vulnerable. He tries to struggle out of it, hissing in Thor’s lap, and Thor feels himself shushing him quietly, his mouth right against the side of Loki’s neck. “He said you were going to touch me.”

“Once I start, I can’t stop,” Thor murmurs, quietly. “Would you rather that I— That I tease, or bring you to, to,” Thor stops, and he coughs, quietly.

“Tease. There’s no telling how many hours I’ll be held like this.” Thor’s hands slide over the shimmering fabric of Loki’s robe, and then he hikes it up, pulling it around Loki’s bent knees, and he feels Loki hiss out a sound as he is bared to the warm air. Thor’s fingers draw slowly over the heavily muscled meat of Loki’s thighs, moving inward, and he hears Loki’s soft gasp as Thor’s fingers brush over his clitoris, and Thor very gently draws his right two forefingers over the little bud, feeling it twitch and jump under the touch. Loki’s own hands are gripped into fists against his chest, and Thor lets his left hand go a little lower, feeling Loki out.

Loki’s mound is thick and fat, but entirely hairless, the flesh smooth beneath Thor’s touch, and Thor can feel that it is with the help of no razor – the Grandmaster had been quite right, before. Loki grows no hair here. His inner lips are wrinkled and thin (although not quite as thin as the scowling lips he wears on his mouth), and as Thor touches over them, gently, Loki lets out a short noise – pleasure, Thor thinks. Thor presses forward, sinking inward, and he feels the cold radiating from Loki at the entrance, feels it wink and clench around Thor’s single finger, and Loki grunts.

“ _No_ ,” he mutters. “Just— Touch my cock. Leave that alone.” _Your cock,_ Thor almost repeats. Is that what Loki calls it? But surely, yes, under the fingers on his right hand, he can feel it swelling under his touch, feel it straining for more than just the teasing play of Thor’s fingers over its tiny length, but it’s so _small_.

“Alright,” Thor murmurs, and his left hand begins to stroke in slow, teasing circles over the pale skin at Loki’s thigh; he places his thumb and forefinger on either side of Loki’s cock, feeling it thrust itself against his fingers, and he gasps as a little wetness bursts against his thumb and forefinger, the precome gel-like and freezing cold. Loki eyes are tightly closed, his mouth open, and Thor can feel him tilting his hips into the touch, unable to resist it, but he feels the twitch in Loki’s thigh, feels the tightness in his body. “Relax, Loki. It’s alright.”

“It’s not alright,” Loki hisses, but there’s a pleasured note in his voice, as if he is holding himself back. Thor squeezes his length (fully erect now, and it’s what, three inches?) between his thumb and forefinger, and Loki keens out a desperate moan, arching into the touch. It makes Thor feel sick, to feel him shake and gasp under his touch like this, but—

Thor looks to the Nakomians. One of them is watching them openly, his mouth open, his huge tongue lolling out, and his cock – thicker, even, than Thor’s arm – is dribbling sandy-yellow pre onto the ground. Thor thinks of one of those monstrous lengths pressing into Loki’s body, and he presses his mouth to Loki’s neck, dragging his lips over the smooth skin and feeling Loki’s heady gasp as much as he hears it.

“Just relax,” Thor repeats lowly, “Imagine I’m someone else.” Thor feels cool liquid drip against his trousers, seeping through the red cloth, and his left hand slips in again, dancing over Loki’s open cunt, which is now swollen with low-flowing blood: he’s wet now, and Thor’s fingers slip slightly into him, so easily it’s like Loki’s cunny is _inviting_ him in.

“Thor,” Loki complains, and Thor makes to move his hand away, but Loki’s hand is over his own, pushing it back. “ _Please_.”

“Ah ah ah,” the Grandmaster’s voice comes sharply, and Loki lets out a loud cry of pain: his wrists are suddenly held above his head, and Thor feels Loki’s hands dragged behind Thor’s head, feeling some invisible string tie them in place. “No touching, Kiki – very naughty of you. That means a punishment for Thor, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Loki moans, shaking his head. “No, no, Grandmaster, let me take it instead—” Suddenly, the Grandmaster is leaning over them both, and Thor is unable to look away as the Grandmaster cups Loki’s cheek, pulling him in for an almost-kiss. “Please,” Loki repeats, softly. “I’ll take it.”

“Ignore him, Grandmaster,” Thor says, surprised by the gruff hoarseness in his own tone: even as he speaks, his thumb and forefinger are gently manipulating his brother’s cock, and his fingers are circling his open cunt, playing over the entrance there. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. I’ll take the punishment I’m meant to receive.”

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Thor?” the Grandmaster murmurs softly: his hand is still cupping Loki’s cheek. “You don’t even know what the punishment is, and here you are, insisting you’ll take it. In fact, you’re being _so_ good, I’ll waive this one. How’s that sound?”

“Excellent, Grandmaster,” Thor says, and as he speaks, he slides his middle finger into Loki’s cunny, feeling his brother arch and moan, his backside grinding against Thor’s soft cock through the fabric of his trousers. “Thank you.” The Grandmaster stares at him, expectant, and even as Thor feels Loki clench around him, feels Loki’s body cold and open and _needy_ , he is forced to lean his head forward slightly, despite the pain of the strap tight around his neck. The Grandmaster kisses him, and Thor is so startled by the electricity of that mouth on his that he loses his grip on Loki’s little cock, and so he grinds his heel into its base instead, making Loki choke on the feel of it. The Grandmaster’s tongue is hot and heavy with electricity in Thor’s mouth, and it triggers something in Thor himself: he feels the spark of shock within himself before he can stop it, and Loki _screams_ when electricity bursts from Thor’s fingers, steaming and crackling on Loki’s cock and inside his cunt. Loki is sobbing, and even as he does so he is grinding himself desperately down onto Thor’s fingers.

“More,” he whimpers. “More, Thor, _please_ , just—”

Thor’s second finger slides so easily into Loki’s open hole that he feels slick well up against his palm, so he adds a third, feels Loki’s muscles clench so tightly around him that it’s _almost_ difficult for Thor to pull his fingers back, and as the Grandmaster pulls away, he sees Loki’s hand shoot out – how had he gotten it undone? – and grasp tight at the Grandmaster’s neck.

“You drugged me,” he whispers, headily. Thor can see the lilac flush on Loki’s neck, and the Grandmaster laughs, kissing the wrist of the hand that grips him. Is this why Loki is so wanton under Thor’s hands, so desperate for his touch? Thor hates it, and yet he’s also glad of it, in a way – better a Loki who chases his pleasure than a Loki that must suffer through it.

Are these choices what their lives have come to?

“I sure did, sweetie,” he agrees, and Loki’s hand is wrenched above his head again. The Grandmaster meets Thor’s eyes as Loki squirms and moans, grinding his hips down into Thor’s hands as best he can, and Thor wraps his fingers around Loki’s cock again, creating a slicked fist that Loki can thrust into. The Grandmaster is no longer watching, moving and talking with the guard – Topaz – but others are, an audience gathered around the dais and speaking quietly to one another as they watch the show. It revolts Thor on every level, the way this planet functions, the hedonistic haze that covers every little thing.

Loki is moaning openly now, coming to pieces in Thor’s lap as he desperately rolls his hips down onto the work of Thor’s hands, and Norns, Thor can feel that his hands are beginning to get tired, but he isn’t going to stop any time soon. Scissoring the three fingers he has pressed into Loki’s quim, he feels his brother gasp and feels hips stutter, and he takes that as encouragement, beginning to crook the fingers as he thrusts him inside – he feels for the tell-tale, spongey flesh on the roof of the opening there, and Loki’s groan is guttural and deep.

“Are you going to come?” Thor asks, knowing his breath will be hot against Loki’s neck, and Loki’s breath hitches in his throat, his cock pulsing as he thrusts desperately into Thor’s fist. Loki’s breathing is laboured, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and he whimpers as he nods his head. Thor squeezes his fist a little tighter, beginning to crook his fingers hard enough to rub _hard_ over that spot, and when Loki comes, it’s with a haze of seiðr that bursts over Thor’s skin, making his perspiration freeze and come away from his flesh: Loki is wailing out the most pathetic noises Thor’s ever heard, and Thor gently fucks him through it, letting him ride it out.

The fingers wrapped around Loki’s cock begin to stroke teasingly up the side of Loki’s right thigh, and he keeps fucking him with his fingers, more gently now. Loki’s head is lolled back, heavy upon Thor’s shoulder, and he slurs the words when he mumbles, “Thor… Stop…”

“I can’t,” Thor murmurs quietly. “You know I can’t.” The thrusts of his fingers are gentle, as gentle as he can make them, and despite his protests, Loki clenches rhythmically around them, his lolling head pressing back against Thor’s shoulder. “What did he threaten you with? What did he say he’d do to me?”

“Whip you,” Loki mumbles, the words barely coherent, and Thor can see that he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, speaking in a haze. “Flay the skin off— Off your thighs. More.”

“More? You just said to stop.”

“ _More_ ,” Loki says, plaintively, and Thor hesitates, wondering how much of this is down to whatever drug the Grandmaster had dosed him with, how quickly he slides from complete refusal to desperate assent— “ _Please_ ,” Loki begs, and he sounds as if he will cry, “ _Thor—”_

“It’s alright,” Thor murmurs, unable to say anything, and he slides his fourth finger – easily, so easily – into the gushing freeze of Loki’s cunt, feeling the lax, loosened muscle give way easily.

“You could put your fist inside,” Loki says, his voice thick. “Put— put it in me… So big.” Thor swallows, his right hand gripping at the muscle of Loki’s thigh in the hopes of shutting him up, but it just makes Loki moan louder. “Need more, need—” Thor brings his right hand, wet with Loki’s spend though it is, to Loki’s mouth, and Loki opens his mouth eagerly for Thor’s come-stained fingers, sucking them down, and it’s _awful_ , it’s wrong, and filthy, and awful—

But Loki isn’t talking any more. That’s the important thing.

Thor looks out over the rapt crowd, and the Grandmaster meets his eyes. Instead of hearing him talk, from across the room, he feels the words in his mind. _Time for a bonus round, Sparkles! You have a choice here. You can make Loki here come three times more. Three times, that’s, ha, that’s kinda pushing the envelope on pretty boy’s capabilities – orgasm number two won’t be so hard, but number three will be a little uncomfy and, ha, number four? Well, that’s normally when he starts crying._

“And the other option?” Thor asks, lowly. Loki groans around Thor’s fingers, sucking on them hard, grinding his hips down as he does so – Thor hates the twinge it sends through his cock, because it’s his _brother_ , but the sensations are affecting him on some primal level, some level that just wants to _rut_ , regardless of who it is sprawled against his lap.

 _You can, ha, come show me what those pretty lips are good for. Leave Lolo on the throne._ Thor is already nodding his head, as much as he can with the strap tight against his throat, and the Grandmaster laughs, snapping his fingers.

All five straps come loose at once, and Thor slowly draws his fingers out of Loki’s cunt and his mouth, leaving Loki drowsily complaining for their loss, but Thor ignores it. Carefully, he lifts Loki by the thighs, and he extricates himself from the seat, laying Loki back down on the plush cushions. Loki’s eyes are half-open, and he grabs uselessly at Thor’s sleeve as he turns to move away.

“ _Thor_ ,” Loki groans, but Thor does not look back. The audience parts to let Thor through, and even as he approaches, a high-backed seat appears behind the Grandmaster: as Thor comes within four feet of him, he drops back against it, his knees parting, and he puts his chin on his hand, grinning.

Thor drops to his knees, and he shoves the Grandmaster’s thighs a little roughly apart, pushing up his robes. The Grandmaster’s hand plays through Thor’s short hair, and Thor ignores it, instead shifting forward face-first, dragging his tongue _hard_ over the Grandmaster’s cunny – and this, this isn’t a surprise, because Thor can see what he’s done, _knows_ what he’s done even as he leans down, because he hears Loki’s heady cry across the room.

“You bastard,” Thor whispers as he feels the cold, gel-like slick against his tongue, tasting strangely acidic and sharp in his mouth. Loki’s cock really is small, Thor sees like this – there’s no foreskin, and the cock is tapered at its end, but most of all Thor stares at how open and desperate Loki’s cunny is, dripping, _gushing_ down the Grandmaster’s thighs. “This colour doesn’t suit you,” he mutters.

The Grandmaster laughs, and then his hand tightens in Thor’s hair, pulling him closer. Thor laps at Loki’s cunt, feeling the strange contrast beneath the cool, twitching flesh beneath his mouth and the burningly hot thighs on either side of his head, but Thor focuses only on making Loki come. He thrusts his tongue inside, laving the walls, and Loki _wails_ , the sound so loud it echoes off the walls of the high-ceilinged dance hall, and Thor can hear people, party-goers, laughing.

They don’t matter.

Thor mouths at Loki’s lips, feels the way they twitch, feels Loki’s keyhole muscles desperately clenching and relaxing, and he feels a burst of liquid spatter against his chin, but it doesn’t matter: it doesn’t matter. Thor’s tongue is hot where it plays against Loki’s cock, and when Thor takes the whole thing into his mouth – easy as anything – and _sucks_ , he hears a high keen.

“Ooh, he likes that,” the Grandmaster murmurs, approvingly. Thor ignores him, focusing on hollowing his cheeks around Loki’s cock, his tongue playing over the base of it, and he hums softly, sending vibrations over it: Loki’s cunt is so desperate, so open, so slick, and Thor slides three fingers inside it once more, feeling it take them as if they were meant to be there, as it’s all he ever wanted, and Thor closes his eyes tightly.

The sparks come to his tongue easily, and when they strike, they tingle off the tip of his tongue, even as Thor presses hard against the roof of Loki’s cunny, and Loki comes with a scream that makes the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, clenching around him, his cock bursting with bitter spend that paints Thor’s tongue, and Thor takes it all easily.

He sucks him through it, and when he falls back on his arse, his beard dripping with his brother’s juices, his fingers filthy with Loki, there is just a cock between the Grandmaster’s legs – an alien cock, certainly, separated into five segments and brightly blue, but a cock nonetheless.

Thor turns his head, and he sees Loki slumped in the throne, looking like he’s been fucked out. “You know,” the Grandmaster murmurs, and his hands feel so good on Thor’s tired shoulders, so good that for just a second Thor forgets who they belong to, “You’re pretty good with him. You sure things weren’t meant to be this way?”

“You’re sick,” Thor says. The Grandmaster chuckles, and he kisses the top of Thor’s head.

“And here I was, thinking I might let you two share a room,” he murmurs. Thor’s heart skips a beat in his chest.

“Please,” he says.

“That’s better,” the Grandmaster murmurs. “Now come suck me properly.” Thor sighs, but with great reluctance, he turns his face back to the Grandmaster, and he sinks his head between the mad man’s legs once more.


	3. Chapter 3

Loki shifts in his sleep, settling out a low groan of sound. He presses closer to the body beside him, moulding himself into the other man’s gaps and openings and _delighting_ in the heat that comes off him, feeling it tingle against his cool flesh and heat his blood. “Grandmaster,” Loki mumbles, dragging his lips over the chest his chin is pressed against, letting his tongue dart out. He tastes salt, tastes sweat, and he frowns sleepily. “What are you—”

“Loki,” Thor says, and abruptly, Loki is wide awake.

Scrambling away from his brother, Loki lands heavily on the ground, smacking his head against a coffee table, and he hisses out a nose, his hand going to the back of his head. He’s groggy from whatever substance the Grandmaster had plied him with the night previous, and his vision swims as he looks around the room.

These aren’t his quarters. _Loki’s_ quarters have dark wallpaper on the walls and light-wood flooring, with distinguished furniture and oil lamps lighting the room. This, however? This is more reminiscent of standard Sakaarii fare: the walls are brightly white and clean, and the sheets on the bed are made of some metallic blue fabric that’s warm to the touch. No windows. Coffee table, chairs, made of glass and chrome steel, and a doorway of similar material…

“You idiot,” Loki says. His voice is hoarse, and his hand goes to his throat. Seiðr comes quickly to his palm, healing the bruising there – what had he gotten _that_ from? Memories come slowly and hazily, and he frowns as he stands to his feet, robes bleeding onto his naked body. He smells like sand and steel… Nakom. A Nakomian? Had he taken a Nakomian into his mouth? Surely he hadn’t been _that_ intoxicated—

It comes in a flash of sudden recollection: a Nakomian with his hand around his throat, and Thor— “Did you kill a Nakomian last night?”

“Yes,” Thor says grimly. He sits up on the bed, and Loki looks at him, cursorily. He wears no trousers, the bedsheets tangled messily around his thighs, but he isn’t quite shirtless: Loki sees he wears the remnants of a silk jerkin, ripped and barely clinging to his body, parts of the red fabric smeared with yellow Nakomian blood. “You thought I was him.”

“Ordinarily I sleep in his bed, if not my own,” Loki murmurs, looking damningly around the room. It’s _tiny_. The seats beside the coffee table are little more than stools, and there’s very little floor space: the bed, big enough for two but not big enough for two to sleep apart, dominates the tiny little cabin. There are two doors against one wall – the bathroom and exit, respectively – and a window across from the bed that stretches across the entire wall. “Evidently you have ruined _that_ , too.”

“Ruined—” Thor’s fury shows in his face, and Loki throws magic out in every direction, pushing the walls of the room back and forcing them into a gap between dimensions. Thor’s angry expression is replaced by one of awe, and Loki ignores it, instead focusing on the magic that thrums in his veins. The flat, plastic floor disappears beneath his feet, replacing itself with mahogany boards, and the walls paint themselves in gold – no sense in going _entirely_ out of the Grandmaster’s preferences if Loki is to be permitted his adjustments. The bed widens, leaving Thor letting out a sharp noise of surprise, and it grows four tall posts and a sizeable headboard, a canopy gathering itself overhead. The coffee table and stools are turned into three vases that rest upon the windowsill, and Loki sets artificial flowers within – sunflowers, bluebells, daffodils, blue tulips. Nothing outside the accepted colour scheme.

Turning to the blank wall, Loki builds the three mirrors from the atom outward, seeing them gather against the wall in chaste silver, and they form as three perfect discs, garnished with gold at their edges as if they have grown organically from the wall itself. Loki taps the mirror in the centre, drawing a symbol upon the glass.

“Hey, kitten,” the Grandmaster purrs as he appears on it, and behind him, Loki hears Thor scramble.

“What is the meaning of this? You might extend me the courtesy of _informing_ me I have lost your favour!” Loki snaps, and the Grandmaster arches an eyebrow.

“Honey,” he says coolly. “You _are_ my favourite. I don’t let just anybody share bunks with their big bro.”

“I want my quarters back,” Loki says.

“Sorry, already shuffled ‘em around,” the Grandmaster says. “You guys’ll just have to stay together ‘til another spot opens up.” Loki runs a hand through his hair, and then lets out a sound of disgust, pulling it away. Pink stickiness clings to his fingers, and the Grandmaster laughs. “Aw, yeah, mild amnesia’s kinda a side-effect of the jab I gave ya. They’re trying to work it out. That’s from that Xandaran.”

“A Xandaran,” Loki says, making no move to hide his disgust. “Grandmaster,” he says delicately, turning his gaze onto the mirror, and the Grandmaster smiles in anticipation. “I have _adjusted_ the dimensions of our sleeping quarters.”

“So I see,” he says, lips quirked into a little smirk. “I thought you would. I, uh, hope you find the _bath_ to your satisfaction. You know how I like for my guests to be comfortable.”

“I’d be more comfortable sleeping with _you_.”

“Aw,” the Grandmaster says, tapping his chin. “You know, honey, you— Gee, you’re just, ha, you’re just _so_ convincing. But no, no, I want you stay there with Thor. He and I, we— we just got on _so_ well last night. Didn’t we, pretty boy?” Behind him, Loki hears Thor grunt. “Why don’t you two get cleaned up? I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Fine.”

“Aw, Lo-Lo,” the Grandmaster warns, his tone low. “I’d rein that attitude in, if I were you.”

“What if I want you to rein it in for me?” Loki asks, his tone thick with sultriness. The Grandmaster bites down on his lower lip, worrying the plump flesh _visibly_.

“Mmm, it’s a temptation, I’ll give ya that… See you later.” The image in the mirror fades, and Loki looks at his own reflection. His face is dirty, marred with pink, white, black, even— The Grandmaster’s right. He does need a bath.

“Get up,” he orders, and he takes the left door into the bathroom, the robes he had conjured for his modesty disappearing. _This_ , yes, this is more what he’s used to. A complex mosaic spreads over the floor, cool against his soles, and the bath is big indeed – round and made of black marble, like the Grandmaster’s. Loki conjures cold water, so cold that ice forms in it, and then he looks to Thor. Sighing, Loki lets the ice melt away, leaving lukewarm water filling the tub, and he steps inside. Immediately, he takes up a sponge of Kirillian coral-weed, pouring soap over it and beginning to scrub at his skin. It’s disgusting, the way different colours come away from the canvas of his pale skin, and immediately, colours swirl in the water. “Tell me what happened last night.” A chair sweeps into existence, settling beside Thor.

“Is that an illusion?” Thor asks, quietly.

“No,” Loki says. “It is a conjuration.”

“You never used to be able to do that. Not so easily.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Seven years.”

“For you.”

“What?”

“For you, seven years,” Loki says cleanly, sharply. He scrubs so firmly at a splotch of purple that he hisses in pain: the pigment doesn’t come away. It’s his own bruise, flaring up beneath the skin. “Sakaar is on a different timestream. Dimensions within dimensions. I’ve been here three years.” Thor’s mouth drops open. “And I spent decades between dropping from the Bifrost and invading Midgard. Sit down.” Thor does. Loki sees his cock between his legs, long and thick and soft. He suppresses the urge to gag, and returns his attention to cleaning the muck from his skin. “Tell me what happened last night. I recall very little.”

Thor has an uncomfortable, pinched look on his face. It unsettles Loki, makes him worry that something truly dreadful had occurred, and he suppresses the urge to fidget in the tepid bathwater.

“He— He said that I had to, uh… That I had to stimulate you, manually—”

“Finger me.”

“Finger you,” Thor says, his lips twisting in disgust – whether at the memory itself, or at Loki’s bluntness in describing it, Loki knows not. “But he had drugged you. He… He allowed me to stop, so long as I came over to him instead, but he had done something, made your—” Thor trails off. Loki sets his jaw. “Made your genitalia appear in place of his, so that when I tongued him, I was tonguing you.” Loki recalls it. Recalls his blood hot in his veins, grabbing at the seat beneath him, gasping and whimpering at the invisible mouth sucking at him, tonguing him open.

“Yes,” he says. “After that.”

“I serviced the Grandmaster for a time. Then he insisted we play a game…” Thor exhales, a snarl coming to his lip. “A game he called pass the parcel. He set me against the radio, and I was to stop and start the music, leaving you in the hands of whomever in the circle was holding you. And then they would tear away a layer of your robe, before… Before despoiling you in some way. Touching you, or marking you, or… Or…”

“Spending on me. Yes, I’m rather familiar with that game,” Loki says wryly. “And that was when you became upset at the Nakomian, hmm? You oughtn’t have stopped the music on him, then.” Thor slams his fist so hard into the wooden arm of his seat that it splinters. “Temper, temper.”

“You _stop_ this, now,” Thor orders, standing to his feet, and Loki ignores him, beginning to lather shampoo into his sticky hair. “You cannot— You cannot treat these abuses of your person with such nonchalance, such disregard!”

“What would you rather? That I cry and shiver whenever someone so much as looks in my direction?” Loki asks, lowly. “If I were a wilting flower, Thor, overtly attached to my virtue, I would be long-since dead.” He dips his head beneath the water, soaking the disgusting, caked filth from his scalp and his hair, and the water bubbles even as he does so, making itself clear and pure once more. He raises his head, and he runs a hand through his hair, newly clean. “It’s just sex. You need to cease being so sentimental.” Thor stares at him, breathing heavily, and Loki swallows, lowly. “I am sorry. This is a… Most unsettling situation. But you need to formulate a level of detachment, or you shall doom us both. There is no place for your short temper here, Thor, and nor is there a place for your pride.”

Thor puts his hands together, and Loki’s hands slip slowly between his legs, feeling his cunt. Fucked open and still wet – both with his own slick and with spend – and tender from rough treatment.

“Did you…” Loki swallows. “Did he make you, make you have me?”

“No,” Thor says. Loki feels relief bloom within him, and he swallows hard. Here he is, decrying Thor’s sentiment, and yet he’s terrified of the idea of having Thor’s cock inside his cunt. There’s something primally, deeply wrong about it, on the most _instinctive_ level, and he pushes down the nausea that blooms within him. “Merely my fingers, and my tongue… When you fell unconscious, the drug overtaking you, I carried you back here.” Loki stands slowly from the water, and Loki pushes seiðr to the bruises on his arms and hips, letting them heal away. “Where were you?” Thor asks, quietly. “You said… Between the Bifrost and Midgard. Decades. Where were you?”

“The date of expiration on that question has passed, I’m afraid,” Loki mutters. “You ought have asked at the time.”

“Why won’t you let me care about you?” Thor demands.

“I’m not the one stopping you,” Loki replies evenly. Thor’s gaze flits over his body, taking in his broad shoulders and his slender waist, his wide hips, his thick thighs – and then his gaze flits up again. Thor’s focus is upon the dip between Loki’s thighs, taking in the shape of his small cock, his prominent, wrinkled lips, his entrance. “Would you like me to draw you a diagram?”

“Is that because you’re a Jötunn?” Thor asks.

“Presumably.”

“Have you— Have you always had that? Or did it merely come about after you touched the Casket?”

“Always. I never liked being nude before you or the Warriors Three. Surely you noticed.”

“I thought you were shy,” Thor murmurs, quietly. “Of Fandral, his teasing.” Loki presses his lips together, turning his head away, and he allows the robes to return to cover his flesh, golden strands of silk hiding him from view. Thor isn’t wrong. Loki would have shuddered to have Fandral’s attentions on him, once he realised precisely how _exotic_ Loki was – and Loki would have loved it, he’s certain, adored Fandral’s single-minded attention. Until he got bored. “And that you were smaller than me. I didn’t realise you were so different. You’ve sired five children, and yet—”

“Sired three,” Loki corrects, cleanly. “Borne three others.” Thor stares at him, and Loki adjusts the set of his wrists, drawing a hand through his damp hair.

“That’s six,” Thor says lowly. “Not five.” Loki stares down at his hands, not wanting to look at Thor’s face, not wanting to see the light furrow of his brow and the downturn of his lips. Not wanting to see the _care_ on his features.

“You don’t like secrets. I’m trying to let some out,” Loki says. “Take a bath. Meet me in the dining hall.” Loki doesn’t wait for Thor to ask him questions, about where the dining hall is – he’ll find it. Slipping from the bathroom, he throws a burst of seiðr in the direction of the bed, forming trousers, a shirt, a jacket. Sandals settle on the ground, and Loki allows boots to form on his own feet as he draws his hair up into a neat bun, rubbing at his eyes. The grogginess has almost entirely faded, now, although he’s a little unsteady on his feet, and food in his system will assist with that.

Initially, when Loki had arrived upon Sakaar, he’d planned to play for a while, and then move on, but he’d found he’d rather enjoyed the chaos of the place, the games, the biting sharpness of society here. And the Grandmaster, _why_ , he was positively electrifying. Magic had settled around him like a tornado of power, and Loki had been enchanted, until he had realised he was an _Elder_.

Fear had run hot in his veins, but the Grandmaster hadn’t allowed him to flee, and Loki’s plan had changed. Delight in the Grandmaster’s touch, enjoy his attentions, until he grew tired of Loki and set him out to “retire” – then, Loki would flee.

Now, of course, the Grandmaster has leverage over him. He had leverage before, of course, to some extent – he could threaten with pain, or he could encourage with pleasure. And the Grandmaster enjoys, from what Loki can tell, the fact that Loki argues with him, that Loki talks back, that Loki analyses and understands and improves. But there’d always been such a _limit_ to what Loki would reveal, and to what the Grandmaster could tease out of him.

Thor is a vulnerability. A rather large one.

Loki sits alone at a two-person table, adjusting the set of his robes upon his body, and when a waiter comes over, he says quietly, “A plate of Ionian Carpaccio, please, and a pot of wolfsbane tea.”

“Yes, sir,” he says, nodding his head, Sighing, Loki puts his head against his hand, dragging his palm against his skin. Stupid of him, truly stupid of him, to think he would be able to pass out from beneath the Grandmaster unscathed – and to think Thor would not come from him. Of course he would.

The plate of raw meats is set before him, as well as the pot of steaming tea, and Loki murmurs a quiet thank you. He takes a slow sip, tasting the tea’s floral, bitter note upon his tongue and feeling the wondrous heat of the hot liquid as it slides down his throat. Wolfsbane is a poison upon Midgard, but Loki has always appreciated its subtle taste. The carpaccio, made up of the Ionian wild boar and the slavering gvorne, has been left to ferment for some time, rotting just slightly. Its scent is spicy, and Loki slowly takes up a disc of meat, settling it on his tongue and chewing it delicately.

The Jötunn tongue is thicker than that of the Æsir’s, and the Jötunn teeth are denser and sharper, fewer in number, but the primary difference between the Jötunn mouth and the Æsir one is in the saliva. Jötunn spit is heavily acidic, and although Loki ordinarily shifts his mouth to retain the Æsir mouth he had for so many hundreds of years, for this, it is better to retain his _true_ tongue. The meat melts upon his tongue, and Loki hums quietly at the sour, salty tang that slides over his tongue, harsh and overpowering.

“Don’t know how you can eat that stuff, honey,” the Grandmaster murmurs, sliding into the seat across from him. “It’s _icky_.”

“So’s incest,” Loki replies. The Grandmaster chuckles. He puts his chin on the backs of his hands, looking at Loki with an indulgent expression on his face, and Loki says, “What could _possibly_ be so interesting about this? Let Thor leave the planet, and I’ll stay with you for as long as you want me. I’ll let you bind my magic, even.”

“ _Let_ me, huh?” the Grandmaster asks, smoothly. “You think I couldn’t make your magic do whatever I wanted?”

“You could,” Loki agrees. “But that’s nothing compared to if I _assented_ to it. If I pledged my magic, my life, to you. Forever.”

“ _Heavens_ , Kiki,” the Grandmaster whispers. “He must be real special if you’re, uh, if you’re offering something like that.”

“We grew up together,” Loki says guardedly. “I don’t want to have him touch me like this, have him _see_ me like this. Our relationship is strained.” The Grandmaster watches him, his honey-coloured gaze flitting over Loki’s face, and Loki cannot shake the oddity of the sensation. To be in the presence of such ancient power is impossible to ignore and to shake off: the very heat of the Big Bang crackling from his skin.

“Me and my brothers, huh, we share _everything_.”

“If you shared everything, you’d see them more than once every few millennia,” Loki replies, dryly. “And none of you are really _brothers_. Most of you are from completely different species, different cultures. You simply consider yourself _brothers_ because no one else is as old as you.”

“So perceptive,” the Grandmaster purrs. “You, ha, you put that together in just three years? _Gee_ , honey. You’re smart. You know any of their names?” Loki leans back, bringing his cup of tea to his mouth. The Grandmaster _smiles_. “Aw. You’re holding out on me.”

“I usually am, in one way or another,” Loki replies, in a tone of great delicacy. “You’re not going to let him go, then?”

“No,” the Grandmaster says. “I can let _you_ go, if you want.” Loki frowns, his brow furrowing, and the Grandmaster gives an amused little sound, then purrs, “If you want, I can, ha, I can put a fast forward on your little retirement plan. Send you packing. Sparkles stays here with me.” Loki swallows, and he takes another disc of meat, settling it between his lips.

“You’re trying to see if I care more about him, or myself,” Loki murmurs.

“Aw,” the Grandmaster says, in little more than a whisper. “Guess that’s an answer. Sparkles, there you are!” Thor hesitates, dressed in the casual clothes Loki had laid out for him, and he looks with uncertainty between Loki and the Grandmaster both. Loki puts his hand out, conjuring a chair from the ether, and he gestures for Thor to sit. “We were just talking about you, honey.”

“Is that so?” Thor asks, reaching for a slice of the carpaccio, and Loki grabs hold of his wrist, pulling the plate closer to himself.

“No,” he says. “This is bad for you. The waiter will be here in a moment.” Thor scowls at him, and Loki ignores it, taking another disc of meat for himself and chewing.

“There’s no need to be _rude_ , Lo-Lo,” the Grandmaster chides.

“There’s no need to let him put rotting meat in his mouth either,” Loki replies. “Just because I can eat it doesn’t mean _he_ can.” The Grandmaster tuts, quietly, and he shakes his head – there’s disapproval plain on his face, and he taps two blue-painted fingernails against the table.

“Aw, Thor,” he says, his voice full of sympathy. “How does it make you feel when your little brother talks about you like that?”

“Annoyed,” Thor says, shortly. The waiter comes, however, and interrupts their _light_ conversation, allowing Loki to take up a fig from the plate, turning it inside out to eat it. Thor orders some bread, some jam, butter. Nothing groundbreaking. The Grandmaster orders a tequila sunrise and a platter of sushi – that’s not surprising either.

“Mmm, he should learn to show his king some respect,” the Grandmaster murmurs, softly. “Get up, honey.” Loki hesitates. The Grandmaster is smiling slightly, but he shows no sign of backing down, and Loki gets slowly to his feet. Pushing his chair to the side, Loki bends at the waist, setting his palms flat on the edge of the table, and he stares down at the glass surface. “Aw, see. Loki knows what I’m about. He, uh, he _gets_ me. Do you want to spank him, or shall I?” 

Loki glances up, and he sees Thor swallow, staring around the room. It’s early in the morning on Sakaar, and there are very few people in the Grandmaster’s dining hall: few people are permitted access to this most _exclusive_ area, and barely anyone is awake so early in the morning. A pair of Xirandans are sharing a fruit platter – Xirandans have continuously regenerating brain cells, and don’t sleep at all – and there are the staff around the room, but that is all.

“Bet you’ve always wanted to do it, huh,” the Grandmaster murmurs. “Maybe not _spank_ him, but make an, uh, ha, example of him, teach him a damn lesson. After all, if basic _morals_ won’t put him on the right path, well, ah, maybe humiliation’ll do the job, huh?”

“Huh,” Thor grunts.

“Oh, come on, _Thor_ ,” Loki murmurs. A spanking is better than sex. “I’m sure you’ve wanted to beat some sense into me for a while.” Thor stands, and his chair creaks on the floor as it’s thrown back. Very slowly, he stalks around the table, and he raises his hand.

“Uh,” the Grandmaster says, leaning forward with his index finger raised. “Maybe, ha, maybe hike up those robes. He’s not wearing underwear, you know.” Loki swallows, taking in a breath, and he feels Thor bunch up the silk of his robes, setting them against his back. He’s hyperaware of the curve of his backside, the openness of his cunny in this position, and he hisses as he feels the hot air press against his skin. “Hasn’t he got such a fat ass? I just love it, it really, ha… Stars, I could spend hours with my tongue in that thing.” Loki exhales, pushing down the urge to laugh despite the situation, and then Thor’s hand claps down against his left buttock. He slams it down so hard that Loki loses his balance, dropping down to his elbows and throwing his plate to the side as pain burns over his arse: Loki catches it with magic before it shatters on the ground, breathing heavily. “Lemme take that,” the Grandmaster murmurs, and Loki relaxes the hold of seiðr as the Grandmaster takes the plate from the air. Another table draws close to their own, and all of the place settings disappear from the one Loki is bent over, reappearing on the other.

Thor hits him again, so hard that Loki chokes on it, so hard he can feel the fatty flesh of his buttocks _bruising_ under Thor’s hand, and then, and then— Why, evidently that had merely been a taster, because suddenly Thor’s hand is coming down with rapidity against him, a flurry of blows making Loki’s entire body _sear_ with agony. Loki grits his teeth, spreading his weight over the table as his knees give out from the hot pain across his backside, but Thor doesn’t let up.

His left hand tangles itself in the robes, steadying his hold on Loki’s back, and Thor’s hand lowers down just slightly, and hits Loki right on the cunt. Loki screams, the pain _unspeakable_ , and despite himself, despite the fact that this is _Thor_ , arousal flickers within him. Thor’s hand smacks against the muscle of his thighs, his backside, and Loki’s entire weight is on the table now, his feet scrabbling uselessly at the floor. “Is that it?” Loki asks, breathlessly, when Loki stops. He feels his backside must be glowing lilac right now, but it doesn’t stop him. He’s too irritated, too _angry_ at Thor – too trapped. “Three thousand years of hurt feeling, and that’s all you can muster?”

Thor swaps hands, and this time, he goes straight for Loki’s quim. Loki arches, _yelling_ , but Thor does it again, and again, and again: Loki can feel the hollow _pop_ of the blow against his entrance, feel his lips and his buttocks quake with the impact, and he cannot help the desperate noises that come from between his lips, the way he grabs at the table for purchase.

He’s wet.

Even were Loki not aroused by the pain, the slaps against the flesh cause blood to rush toward it, and Loki moans continuously, trying to keep himself from sobbing as he lies prone in his place, and then, Norns, he doesn’t know how long it takes, but Thor stops.

All Loki knows is pain.

Thor wipes his hand on Loki’s robes – Loki can feel himself, feel that he’s sopping wet – and the Grandmaster coos, softly. Loki braces himself for the touch against his back, his cheek, but it doesn’t come. The Grandmaster is on his feet, his hands cupping Thor’s cheek, and Loki stares up at them, uncomprehending.

“There you go,” the Grandmaster murmurs, patting Thor’s jaw. “There, there, Sparkles, isn’t that uh, isn’t that better? You really taught him a lesson.” Breathing heavily, Loki stares down at the glass, and he hates the jealousy that burns within him – hates that he _craves_ the Grandmaster’s touch against his skin, comforting him. Three years. Three years, all for this. “Sparkles, honey… I think you might be my new favourite.”

Loki’s eyes close. “Fuck,” he mutters, and he lets himself slide to the floor.

Ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ Ϟ

“See, here’s the rules, Lo-Lo,” the Grandmaster purrs in Loki’s ear, and Loki grits his teeth as he feels the Grandmaster’s hands upon his chest. They’re massing the flesh of his pectorals, palpating the muscle, and he can feel the Grandmaster’s seiðr bubbling under his own skin, making it alter, making it change and swell. Loki aches to resist, aches to force the magic out of his body, but he lets it happen, lets it sink into him. “You no longer let to come unless your big brother’s touching you. You, uh, you understand?”

“Not exactly,” Loki mumbles. His pectoral muscles are swelling, becoming soft and fatty, and Loki can see Thor’s expression, full of worry. A chessboard is set out between he and the Grandmaster, a bottle of wine – and Loki can feel the Grandmaster’s magic tingling in his chest, making him _whimper_.

“No, you understand,” the Grandmaster says firmly. “Unless Thor’s touching you, you don’t get to come. Thor’s in charge of your pretty little pussy now.” Loki sets his jaw, furrowing his brow, and when the Grandmaster’s fingers tweak his swollen nipples, _pressing_ , Loki feels something give way inside him, and he gasps.

Wetness dribbles over the Grandmaster’s fingers. They come up to Loki’s mouth, and Loki drags his tongue over the substance, tastes it – milk. Thin, and sweet. “Jötnar don’t produce breast milk,” he says, hoarsely. The Grandmaster grabs at his breasts, and they grow even fatter, heavier on his chest, and Loki keens out a sound.

“Oh, they’re really gonna, ha. They’re really gonna fight over you tonight, baby. And me and Thor, here, we’re gonna sit here and watch the show. And you? Guess what’s gonna happen to you.”

“I’m going to be fucked nine ways from Sunday.” The Grandmaster laughs, his breath hot against Loki’s ear.

“Yeah, that’s, ha, that’s just about right. Now, pretty boy, tell me. Do you want to _start_ with the Nakomians, or do you want to end with them?”

“Start,” Loki says, headily. He sees Thor’s head whip toward him, an expression of horror on his features, and the Grandmaster laughs.

“Nakomians to finish it is,” he says, and pats Loki’s naked thigh. “Off you go.”

“Nakomians,” Thor says, his hands clenching into fists. “You said—”

“Aw, Thor, you really gotta get over this issue you have with Nakomians,” the Grandmaster says, shoving Loki off him, and Loki stumbles, overbalanced by the weight of his leaking breasts in his otherwise masculine form, and he moves slowly toward the little arena that’s been laid out for him, feeling the magic of it pull him onto the air. “Besides. I said I’d put them last, didn’t I?” Loki lets out a shaky noise, slow, as he feels himself levitate upon the air, and the first of the Sakaarii begins to approach him.

Perhaps if he’s good enough, he and Thor will be able to swap places next time.


	4. Chapter 4

Thor sits back in the comfortable, well-cushioned seat. Bile is constant in the back of his throat, impossible to swallow down and escape from, and he tries to wash away the taste of it with a sip of the sweet dessert wine that rests on the table between him and the Grandmaster.

Last night had been…

Difficult.

Once he had sucked the Grandmaster to completion – a task that had taken something close to an _hour_ , with the Grandmaster fucking deep into his throat with his alien, ridged cock – he had been forced to control the music in the _obscene_ little game of the Grandmaster’s design. And Loki… Norns. Loki had been so drugged he could scarcely stand, and as he was shoved from one person in the circle to the next, he had even _laughed_ , taking his party favours with ease and delight.

Thor’s hands had begun to shake with rage and desperation, and it had been his shaking hands that had caused him to stop the music a moment too early, leaving Loki in the grasping hands of a slavering Nakomian who could tear off the last scrap of fabric on Loki’s body.

Thor had ripped out the monster’s heart before he could take the final prize – Loki’s backside – and left him sprawling on the ground, dead before he hit the tile.

The Grandmaster had found the whole display delightful, but to punish Thor, had taken Loki over his knee and spanked his cunt until Loki was _bleeding_ , sobbing and begging desperately for the Grandmaster to stop. And afterwards, Loki had looked at Thor with such _hatred_ in his eyes, clinging so desperately to the Grandmaster’s skirts as blood flowed in rivulets down his thighs—

The Grandmaster had healed him, of course. _“Can’t leave my favourite toy all, ha, all ruined, right?”_ But Thor knows now that he can’t _protect_ him, can’t step in when something goes too far, or the Grandmaster will only hurt Loki more to punish Thor himself.

Hovering in the air, Loki allows his wrists to be cuffed against the small of his back, and Thor watches as his ankles are cuffed against a wide, leather-bound bar. Loki’s tits are _swollen_ with milk, and he shudders as a Xandaran drags his blue fingers over Loki’s chest, thumbing over the nipple. Loki whimpers audibly. His legs remain spread as some yellow-skinned alien with four arms begins to play over Loki’s cunny, stroking the wet, open flesh. Thor imagines it welling with blood, and he turns his head away, coughing hard and drinking greedily from the wine glass.

“It’s called a spreader bar,” the Grandmaster says helpfully. “Y’see, Thor, this… Loki _wants_ this.”

“You can’t possibly believe that,” Thor says, hoarsely, and he reluctantly turns his gaze back to the scene. The Grandmaster had made it completely clear to Thor what sort of whipping Loki would receive if Thor looked away for more than ten seconds at a time – he _has_ to watch. Or Loki will suffer even more so.

“No, no,” the Grandmaster assures him. His tone is breezy and casual as the four-armed alien presses one finger on each hand into Loki’s cunt and moves them in four directions, holding the ring of wet muscle open. A guttural sound begins in Loki’s throat. “He _does_. He’s… Well, pretty little Lo-Lo is a weird little guy. Lotta issues. Deep-seated, ya know, _probably_ in identity-related trauma.” Thor thinks of Loki on the edge of the Bifrost, holding loosely onto his own spear, _desperately_ trying to assure Father of his fervour for Asgard. He thinks of Loki staring with disgust and horror at his own face in the mirror. He thinks of Loki’s illusions, ever in place. “Aw. See? You know I’m right.”

“Loki having— Having _trauma_ doesn’t mean he wants _this_.” The Xandaran drops to his knees in front of Loki as a Sintaro – green-skinned with leaves instead of hair – shoves a vine-like cock into Loki’s mouth.

“Maybe not _this_ , exactly,” the Grandmaster murmurs, Loki cries out, the sound muffled by green cock, as the Xandaran’s sharp teeth drag over his nipple, and then he arches his back as the Xandaran sucks hard on the nipple, no doubt reducing some of the heavy pressure within the swollen breast. “This, huh, this is just something new. Gotta keep, ha, gotta keep pretty boy on his toes. _That’s_ what baby wants. He, uh, wants to be thrown around so much he forgets how to think. And I promise you, Sparkles, he, ha, he isn’t thinking _at all_ right now.” The yellow alien has eight fingers buried inside Loki’s cunt, each of them thin and spindly, and Loki is wriggling on the air, trying to get away— No, Thor realises. Trying to press back for _more_.

“More wine,” Thor says harshly, and a waitress in a lacy tunic comes forward to pour it. She looks at Thor with undisguised hunger in her eyes, and Thor _almost_ considers it, almost considers pulling her into his lap just to distract him from Loki, even if he has to watch… “Thank you,” Thor says, and he lets her walk away.

“She’d have liked that, ya know.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Thor says. The yellow alien finally lines himself up, and although his fingers were spindly, his cock is thick and fat at the base – it’s for the best he stretched Loki out so much, because pressing his cock into Loki is obviously _difficult_. It’s barely four inches in length, but it has a similar width to the alien’s _head_ , and its slight taper can only do so much for the difference in Loki’s size. “How can you say he wants this?”

The yellow alien fucks inside, and Loki _yells_ around the cock pressed down his throat: Thor sees the length of Loki’s hard cock twitch desperately between his legs as he fucks himself back against the girth, and he feels himself swallow. Loki isn’t drugged this time, which means his desperation is all his own. Thor feels himself swallow, and then he takes another slow drink of his wine.

“Mmm, _that’s_ how,” the Grandmaster murmurs. “And tonight, Thor, you— Ha. You’re gonna see exactly why _I_ love this.”

“What do you mean?” Thor asks. The yellow alien is coming – his testes are internal, but Thor can see the pump of slick _inside_ Loki, sees the way his belly shifts and distends with it, and Loki _wails_ , the sound loud and pathetic. The Sindaro pulls back, and the Xandaran draws away as well, wiping the milk dribbling down his chin away. Loki is breathing heavily, panting, as a pair of Ansari drop to their knees in front of him: each of them latches onto one of his nipples, and Loki screams his throat _ragged_ as they slurp at them loudly and luridly. The yellow alien takes care to tilt Loki so that his arse is in the air as he pulls away, and it keeps most of the alien’s thick, green spend inside him, only a thick droplet sliding down the pale length of Loki’s thigh. Another alien moves forward with no preamble, and he shoves his swinging, purple length right inside Loki’s open cunt.

“Tell us what you want, honey,” the Grandmaster calls. Loki’s hazy eyes come into sharp focus, and he glances back to Thor and the Grandmaster even as the purple alien takes up a punishing pace – his cock is much longer than the yellow alien’s had been, and he thrusts properly instead of just rocking inside him, and the motion makes Loki swing on the air he’s suspended in.

“I want— I want to come, please, let me—”

“Nah, not _that_ ,” the Grandmaster purrs. “Tell us what you really, ha, what you really want.” Loki whines, but whether it’s at the question or the fact that the Ansari are pulling away from his tits, Thor can’t actually tell. “Go on, honey. You can be _honest_ … For me?”

“Want to stop,” Loki mumbles as the purple alien fucks within him, even as he presses greedily back for more. Green and dark purple droplets are dripping out of him whenever the alien pulls back, and Thor can hear the slick, ugly sound of the cock squelching inside him as he thrusts. “Want to— Want to stop, I just want to sit with you.” A mass of tentacles – a Q’ia’r – shifts forwards, and Loki squeals as the tentacles begin to slide wet and lubricated over his body, one of them dipping against Loki’s untouched pucker and two of them coiling around his breasts, _squeezing_ them so tightly that milk dribbles out of him and Loki writhes on the air.

“And how would you sit with me, honey?” the Grandmaster asks, sounding almost bored. Thor glances at him. The Grandmaster is buffing his nails carelessly, yawning quietly against the back of his hand. “If I let you?” There’s a short silence as Loki tries to think, and Thor can see his eyes desperately searching the air in front of him, as if for an answer. “Mmm, just the truth is fine, honey. Tell me what _you_ want, not what you think I want.”

“I just want to sit in your lap,” Loki says in a whisper, his cheeks flushed purple with shame. “I just want— I just want to be touching you.” The Grandmaster gives Thor a sardonic stare. Thor doesn’t doubt the truth of it, he _really_ doesn’t – Loki is _desperate_.

“Is that what you want, baby?” the Grandmaster asks dispassionately. “Daddy holding you in his lap, stroking your hair all gentle?” Loki bites down hard on his lower lip, and then he nods hurriedly. The purple alien spends inside him, and Loki chokes as two of the Q’ia’r’s tentacles slide into his mouth, fucking his throat in tandem. Milk is _gushing_ over Loki’s chest, spattering and dripping on the ground, and Thor can hear the wet, sloppy sounds of Loki trying to suck on the two tentacles at once. “Mmm, not convincing enough. Maybe later.”

“How can you enjoy this?” Thor asks.

“What can I say? It’s better than daytime TV.” Loki is whimpering around the tentacles in his mouth, and when the purple alien finishes, the Q’ia’r moves to take hold of Loki’s cunt as well: tentacles are sliding all over his body, leaving him bound amidst them all, and Thor stares at the thick, glossy tentacles as they slip thick and hot into Loki’s arse, his cunt, and Thor can _see_ the liquid as it gushes down the lines of the tentacles, see it pump into Loki, and that’s—

Thor puts his right hand over his mouth, and he watches the way his brother _convulses_ , his eyes open wide. Thor can hear him _choking_ , and he sees the horrible shift in his belly – one of those tentacles is so deep within him Thor can see it touch the _outside_ of his stomach. Loki is a shapeshifter. That is all he can repeat as a mantra – Loki is a shapeshifter, and he can withstand this, he can _withstand_ this—

Two Nakomians step forward. Immediately, Thor tries to get to his feet, but the Grandmaster’s magic holds him in place. “Grandmaster, you _can’t_ ,” Thor says desperately, and he leans over the table between them, sliding his hand warm over the Grandmaster’s shoulder. “ _Pray_ ,” he murmurs, trying to make his voice as low and sultry as he can. “Perhaps I could take his place?”

The Grandmaster laughs, _cracking up_ as if Thor’s told the funniest joke he’s ever heard, and he pats Thor’s hand condescendingly. “Uh uh, Sparkles. You, uh, you obviously think you’re the _tough_ one in the family, but one Nakomian would split you apart – let alone two! Leave it to the professionals.”

The Q’ia’r is moving slowly away, having left its pink stickiness all over Loki’s body, and Loki gasps as the first Nakomian lines himself up with Loki’s cunt. It’s… Massive. Much larger than Loki ought be able to take within him – easily as thick as the yellow alien’s girth had been, and _at least_ a foot in length, and he can’t just…

The Nakomian slides slowly, steadily, into Loki’s body, gripping tightly at his hips and just _dragging_ him down onto his cock. Loki is _wailing_ , letting out the most ragged, desperate sounds as he’s pulled down onto the obscene size of it, and Thor can see his belly _shift_ , see the line of the Nakomian’s cock through his skin.

“Let me up,” Thor says.

“Are you gonna hurt the Nakomians?”

“ _No_.”

“Pinky promise?”

“Let me—” The magic fades, and Thor is immediately on his feet, dragging his chair with him. He doesn’t need to shove the other Nakomian out of the face: he steps away from Thor immediately, and Thor sets his chair right in front of Loki, sitting once more. Like this, he’s face to face with Loki, and Thor can see Loki’s eyes watering as the Nakomian’s heavy balls touch against his backside. “It’s alright, it’s alright.” Loki gasps as the Nakomian shifts back, and Thor cups the sides of Loki’s face, holding him as gently as he can. “You can take it,” he murmurs quietly. As if to disprove him, the Nakomian _snaps_ his hips forward, and Loki _keens_. Up this close, Thor can hear the slosh of liquid inside him, but he tries not to think about that: he presses his forehead to Loki’s, and he reaches up, undoing the cuffs keeping Loki’s wrists in place.

Immediately, Loki’s hands interlink with his own, holding them tightly, and as the Nakomian begins to fuck Loki in earnest, his mighty hips thrusting so hard and fast that Loki is eternally whining, and Thor can’t help the instinct to say, “Shush, shush, you can do it, it’s alright…” Loki bites down hard on his lower lip, and Thor draws his left hand away from Loki’s own, hesitating.

He’s in _pain_. Thor can see that much – Loki’s skin has taken on a chalky pallour, and he is trying to keep from whimpering with each passing second. “It’s alright,” he repeats again, and his left hand slips lower, thumb playing over the pink bud of Loki’s left nipple, damp from saliva and pink lubricant alike. Loki gasps, his eyes closing tightly.

“No,” he whimpers. “ _Thor_ —”

“I can stop,” Thor whispers as the Nakomian gives a particularly _vicious_ thrust, and he hears the wet gush of liquid inside him. “But I can make you come, Loki, that’s— That’ll feel better, right? Won’t it be better?” Loki hesitates, and then, _desperately_ , he nods his head. Carefully, Thor pushes Loki further up onto the air, shifting the position in which the Nakomian fucks him, and as Loki shifts, it forces the cock deeper inside him. Thor can see the twist of Loki’s expression as the Nakomian sinks right into him, and then the _pleasure_ that bursts on his face. He sees the Nakomian’s sac draw up tightly, sees the wave within Loki’s belly, and he sees the paunch of it _extend_ : he sets his hand against the swollen flesh, and he feels liquid inside, as if—

Thor leans forward, closes his eyes as tightly as he can, and closes his mouth over Loki’s left nipple. Loki judders under the touch, and Thor scarcely notices the quick swap between the first Nakomian and the second – the second, however, must be bigger, because he can hear Loki _cry_ , and his hands find themselves digging tightly against the short hair on Thor’s scalp. Thor drags his tongue around the bud of the nipple, feeling it hard and taut in his mouth, but how exactly does he…? Experimentally, he shifts forward, biting as slightly as he can on either side of the nipple, and a burst of milk comes cool over Thor’s tongue, thin and sweet. It tastes _good_ , and immediately he shifts forwards, doing his best to flick his tongue over Loki’s nipple even as he draws his teeth against it to coax out more milk.

Loki arches right into it, and even as the Nakomian rocks slowly into him, he can feel Loki beginning to stiffen and jolt as Thor’s fingers play over the swollen, fat flesh of his belly. Thor puts his right hand to the other swollen breast, and Loki _moans_. “Thor,” he whimpers. “Thor, please, please, more, just— A little bit, _ungh_ , rougher, please—” Thor manhandles the tit, squeezes it so hard that milk spurts over his wrist and forearm, and Loki’s breathing becomes hitched in his throat. He’s shifting his hips back into the Nakomian’s touch now, and Thor keeps roughly palpating the fleshy roundness in his hand, digging his thumb nail over the nipple and feeling the way Loki _shivers_. More and more of the milk is coming out over his tongue or dripping between his fingers, and Loki must be getting close, he _must_ be. “Slap— I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Tell me,” Thor grunts, and he swaps from one breast to the other, feeling the way Loki gyrates and writhes under the touch, trying to get more of his hand, more of his mouth.

“Slap my belly, _please_ —” Slap it? He can feel Loki’s fingernails digging against his own scalp, so tight now, and he _must_ be close to coming, he must be— Thor squeezes hard at the left breast, and Loki’s scream echoes off the high ceilings. “Please, please, Thor, slap it, _please_ —” Thor’s hand smacks hard against the rounded curve of Loki’s belly, hanging fat and low beneath him, and he hears the taut flesh _thrum_ like the rubber taut over a drum, hears the liquid splash and slop inside his body: the sound Loki lets out is cut-off and gasping, and Thor is lighter on his breasts as he feels Loki come.

The Nakomian is spending inside him, Thor sees as he draws back. Loki looks fit to _burst_ , his swollen belly hanging heavily beneath him like a ripe fruit, and one could easily think him pregnant like this. It can’t— It can’t _possibly_ be within his womb. And yet, how else…?

“Plug him up,” the Grandmaster instructs, mildly. “Thor, honey, come here.”

“But I—”

“ _Now_.” Loki lets out the most pathetic sound of loss as Loki draws away, but he must.

Ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ Ϟ

Loki feels like sobbing. He cannot help but squirm as the Nakomian presses the plug inside him, working it into him as one works a cork into the neck of a bottle – the Nakomian is anything but gentle, and when he’s finished, he turns Loki upright and smacks his belly so hard he _screams_ , nearly falling from his magical suspension, but nothing leaks out of him.

The Nakomian laughs, his breath hot against the back of Loki’s neck, and Loki gasps as the spreader bar is unbuckled and dropped aside, leaving his aching legs with the freedom to move – weakly – beneath him.

Loki can scarcely move. He stands on shaky legs, one hand moving to support the weight of his belly, and he whines, breathing heavily. He can _feel_ the slosh and heavy weight of liquid within him as he tries to keep himself balanced on his feet.

“Aw, honey,” the Grandmaster murmurs from the other side of the room, feigning sympathetic. “Come here, come here to Daddy.”

“I’m not going to call you that,” Loki says hoarsely. His nipples hurt. His _cunt_ hurts, the glass sides of the plug pressing too cool against the fucked-hot flesh of his opening, and when he takes a step forward he nearly loses his balance, just stopping himself from tipping over like an unbalanced ornament. To fall on his belly, when he’s like _this_ —

This is cruel, even for the Grandmaster. Loki takes a shaky step forward. Thor is in his own seat, looking at Loki mulishly, and Loki whimpers as he pads across the ground, feeling himself nearly tip over at least three times before he finally reaches the Grandmaster’s lap. The Grandmaster coos, softly, and pats his knee.

Loki drops down ungracefully into the Grandmaster’s lap, and immediately the Grandmaster’s hands are on the taut curve of his body, feeling where the skin is drawn tight and stretched… The Grandmaster isn’t careful. He grabs at the swell of it, pressing hard against the skin, and Loki can’t help but squirm – despite himself, the pain makes him _ache_ for more, makes him want to _come_. His cock is trapped beneath the oppressive weight of his belly.

“Aw, honey, this is… Huh, that’s _real_ fun.”

“Please,” Loki whimpers. The Grandmaster smacks his thigh, and Loki flinches, feeling the way the sudden jolt sends the water gushing to one side of his body.

“Please what, honey?” the Grandmaster coos. “You can’t— You can’t _possibly_ , uh, want more.” Loki bites down hard on his lower lip, and he feels the Grandmaster’s broad, hot hand running in dreadfully good circles over the curve of his fat paunch, feels like he might just _die_. “What? You want me, uh, you want me in that ass? Or… Haha, if I fuck your pussy, honey, you’ll just leak all over me.”

“You could use magic,” Loki whispers. “To keep— To keep it, keep it inside. You could.”

“Aw,” the Grandmaster purrs, and he jostles Loki’s belly again, making him whimper. “See, Sparkles, Loki’s, _ooh_ , Loki’s really challenging you for the trophy here. Okay, honey, okay, okay…” He pulls Loki up onto his knees, makes Loki lean up, and he feels the heat of the Grandmaster’s broad hand as it plays against the glass plug that keeps him spread wide, but then—

 _Release_. Nothing leaks out of him, not with the Grandmaster’s magic in place, and he feels it _heal_ him, tingle as his stretched muscles tighten up again… The heat is unbearable. Loki squirms, impossibly aroused, as he feels the Grandmaster reach up to touch his cock where it’s pressed down by his belly, and the Grandmaster just shoves it aside, roughly plays over Loki’s cock, and every shift of his hand has Loki’s belly _sloshing_ , has Loki’s fat belly shifting like there is a great ocean within him, and it is so _thick_ , so heavy Loki can scarcely stand it.

“You don’t, uh, you don’t want Thor to fuck you, huh, honey? How come?” Loki groans at the sultry tone of the question, the way it is posed – Loki is trying so desperately to grind his hips against the Grandmaster’s hand, but the Grandmaster _squeezes_ him so tightly it _hurts_. “Aw, honey, don’t— Don’t give me the uh, the silent treatment. You know I don’t like that.”

Loki closes his eyes tightly, just to keep from looking at Thor. “It’s— It’s _wrong_. I can’t— He’s worshiped for his, for his fertility, and I—”

“Oh, I get it,” the Grandmaster whispers, his grip on Loki’s cock twisting as Loki desperately bucks up and into it. “What, you don’t want to get pregnant with big brother’s little baby?” Loki shakes his head, desperately, and he _moans_ as he feels the Grandmaster’s cock tease against his entrance, long and _hot_. Opening his eyes, he stares blearily down at the hand on his belly—

Not the Grandmaster’s hand, golden brown and with rings on the fingers. Thor’s hand, tanned and strong.

Loki falls off the chair, landing messily on the ground as the Grandmaster’s magic fails to hold, and he sobs genuine, shocked tears. Thor looks _distraught_ , and Loki sees the glare he shoots the Grandmaster – had he truly been in Thor’s lap the whole time, thrusting desperately into _his_ hand, nearly grinding himself onto Thor’s cock?

Loki feels sick. Spend is leaking out of his fucked-open cunt, and he whimpers at the sensation of it hot as it pours down his thighs, leaving him in an ever-expanding _pool_ of swirling colours. Loki wishes he was _dead_.

“Ah ah,” the Grandmaster tuts, and he lifts Loki up, holding him tightly despite the way the position makes slick _pour_ from him. “No thoughts like that, honey, no, no… Sparkles, go mingle.” Loki doesn’t look at Thor, instead burying his face against the Grandmaster’s neck, and he can’t help the desperate tears on his cheeks – he is overstimulated and tired and _full_ , and the idea of Thor within him—

“He wouldn’t be my brother anymore,” Loki whimpers, desperately. “ _Please_ , Grandmaster, you _can’t_ , he wouldn’t be my brother anymore, he wouldn’t be—”

“Oh, hush, honey, come on, come on.” The Grandmaster has Loki held tight in his hands, and without even _thinking_ about it the two of them are being lowered into a bath of scalding water. Although the liquid presses hot against him on all sides, Loki cannot help but marginally relax in the water.

Until the Grandmaster puts his hands on Loki’s belly and _squeezes_. The pain is unspeakable, the way the flesh is forced to tighten and push stuff _out_ , and he feels himself clench uselessly as spend that is not his own gushes out of him, staining the water green and pink and red. Loki isn’t aware that he is screaming until the pain finally _stops_ , and then he wraps himself tightly around the Grandmaster’s body, gripping tightly at him.

“Is that what you’re so worried about?” the Grandmaster asks sweetly. “Just that he won’t be your brother anymore?”

“I’ve lost so much,” Loki says, breathlessly. “Please, not him too. _Please_ , I’ll do— I’ll do anything.”

“Really?” the Grandmaster asks, and he chuckles hot against Loki’s neck. His hand is rubbing on Loki’s belly, still swollen. “ _Anything_?”

“Anything, please—”

“What if, ha, what if… Aw, well, honey. What if he just takes your ass, huh? That’d be— That’d be okay, right? That’d be different.” Loki whimpers as the Grandmaster’s fingers press against his slightly open back entrance and slide inside, _so easy_ — “That’s not, ha, that’s not a big thing. No different to having him in your mouth, really. Bet you want that, huh? Just imagine… Thor inside you, _God_ , he’d— He’d love you even more if you could look after his, uh, his every need, right? Seems to me, huh, he has a habit of letting you get lost… You offer him a few, ha, bonuses—”

“Stop it,” Loki whispers. He _knows_ the Grandmaster is wrong, maniacal, borderline insane, and yet— Here in the hot water, with the Grandmaster’s hands drawing slow, comfortable circles over his flesh and pressing hard into his arse, it’s difficult to parse right from wrong. It’s difficult to think about _anything_.

“Okay, not in the ass, then. Have Thor fuck his hammer right into this cunt.” Loki whines as the other hand presses hard into him, three fingers sliding hard against the roof of it even as the Grandmaster scissors the fingers in his arse, and Loki grinds his teeth to keep from yelling. “What if he got you pregnant, huh, honey? God of fertility and all that…”

“No,” Loki moans.

“Ooh, yeah, I like the sound of that. Let him fuck you twice a day, keep it plugged up in you—” Loki has contraceptive spells, _of course_ he does, but— “Aw, no, no, your magic’s no match for mine, baby. If I want you pregnant, you’ll be pregnant _easy_.”

“You can’t—”

“I’m hearing that a lot lately and I, ha, I really don’t like it.” The Grandmaster’s heel is grinding against Loki’s cock even as his fingers _thrust_ , and Loki— Forget wanting to die. Loki _is_ dying. “God, just, just imagine that, honey. All big and wide and heavy with Thor’s baby, imagine, ha… These puppies, we’d keep ‘em just like this.” Another set of hands grabs at Loki’s breasts, and Loki is _wailing_ , squirming in his place, and he’s going to come, he _is_ , he can’t— “Mmm, you’d _really_ be related then, huh? With a baby between you?”

The Grandmaster’s fingers _tingle_ with heat, and Loki feels himself come, feels his own orgasm stain the water with the rest— Loki drops limply against the Grandmaster’s chest. “Send him away,” Loki begs. “ _Please_ , Grandmaster, please, just— Let him go, and I’ll stay…”

“Aw, honey,” the Grandmaster purrs in the shell of his ear. “You’ll stay either way.”

Ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ Ϟ

Loki is sprawled in bed already when Thor enters their quarters. He looks utterly debauched, his belly lilac in places where the skin has been bruised, and he wraps himself tightly around a pillow. Very carefully, Thor kicks off his boots and peels off his clothes, and he slides slowly onto the bed. There’s a wide gap between them.

“You can come closer, if you need to,” Thor says. He’s still wearing underwear, at least, and immediately Loki scrambles across the mattress, pressing his body right against Thor’s. The Sakaar weather is hot and balmy, and despite himself Thor is _relieved_ to feel Loki’s abused flesh against his own, because he radiates cold, and Thor feels all the better for it. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, for— Touching your, your chest. You were in so much pain…”

“It’s alright,” Loki mumbles. He presses his head right against Thor’s chest, and Thor can feel him trembling slightly— How long ago since they were children, sharing a blanket and watching the storm outside Loki’s bedroom window, when Thor was terrified their father would never return from his travels? How long since Loki would fall asleep so easily, his head on Thor’s chest, and Thor’s chin rested against his head?

A long time ago. A long time.

“What did he do to you?” Thor asks, softly.

“Threatened me, mostly. Worked the spend from inside me. Gave me a massage. He likes to whisper the worst things while I’m most relaxed.” Thor rests his hand low on Loki’s back, and he feels the way his brother shivers, _clutches_ at him. “He wants…” Loki trails off.

“He wants me to fuck you,” Thor says. He’s disgusted by how easily the words come from his mouth, _disgusted_ — Dumbly, Loki nods his head. “It’ll be alright,” Thor whispers. He doesn’t know what else to say – there doesn’t seem to _be_ anything else to say. He thinks of what Loki had said, earlier, when Thor had been trapped in his own skull, saying only what the Grandmaster chose to say with his voice, his body puppeteered— “No matter what he makes us do, we’re brothers. I’ll love you no matter what.”

“Alright,” Loki whispers.

He doesn’t sound like he believes it.


	5. Chapter 5

The next two weeks are agony.

Loki, before Thor had arrived on Sakaar, had settled comfortably into a routine. He would spend his days speaking with various Sakaarii – he enjoys Sakaar, enjoys its cut-throat nature and the way that the tiniest bit of gossip can set all manner of chaos in motion. Sakaar is a closed economy, and without businesses to occupy the majority of the Sakaarii, without _work_ , instead complex relationships form from one individual to the next, creating a web of influence.

Loki likes to settle in the midst of these webs like the spider he is, in part, and tug on one string and the next, see how they stumble and offend one another, see the inevitable attempts at _murder_. Three years, and with the stock of new Sakaarii replenishing so regularly, why, it has yet to become _dull_.

In the evenings, he enjoys his time at the Grandmaster’s side.

Mostly, he will merely sit beside him, in his lap – even at his feet, sometimes, leaning back against his legs – and listen. The Grandmaster has the most peculiar way of talking, and he is the most gracious host of his nightly soirées – Loki so adores to listen to him speak, and more importantly to tease out what details might be useful to him. The Grandmaster is an Elder of the Universe; he is closest to the Collector – a man that Loki has _met_ , although he had taken care to distract from the fact at the time. He can never be certain whether the Grandmaster is utilising his telepathy or not, to skim whatever thoughts he can off the surface of Loki’s train of thought, and…

Well. He tries to keep what secrets he can.

In the evenings, now, the Grandmaster will have nothing to do with him. He will not permit Loki to sit at his side or at his feet, nor especially in his lap – every time he so much as _sees_ Loki, he shoos Loki back toward Thor, and Thor…

Thor is difficult.

It would be alright, Loki muses, if Thor would only look after himself. If Loki would live his life separately to Loki – that, that would be fine. Of course, Thor does not trust Loki to live on his own (it isn’t as if Loki’s survived on this planet for three years or anything), and Thor is so unused to being on his own, after two years wandering the abyss… He _wants_ to be with somebody.

Loki just wishes it weren’t _him_ , every day and every night, for two weeks, while the Grandmaster ignores him. He loves his brother – loves him dearly. _In moderation_. Loki explains: “That is Bethshida Galactus – a third cousin of Belladia Galactus, the ruler of Granor. And Bethshilda has been having a liaison with Grunhilde, of Font, but she’s been keeping it secret from—”

“How will this help us escape?” Thor demands, interrupting Loki for the fourth time that evening. The glass shatters in Loki’s abruptly strong grip, and he hisses out a curse, smashing it on the ground.

Two weeks of this. _Two weeks_ , of Loki attempting to give himself even the _barest_ stimulation, and all Thor will talk about is his lacking plan to escape. People-watching? Useless. Talking to people? Even worse. Even gossip, even _speaking_ about people, is apparently off limits to Loki now.

“Are you alright?” Thor asks, staring between Loki’s lilac-bleeding fingers and looking down toward the glass. Loki burns his own blood away with but a thought, watching it bubble from his flesh as the wounds heal shut, and he ignores Thor’s alarmed, disgusted expression.

“ _No_.” And of course, Loki cannot escape him. They share a bedroom, and worse, share a _bed_ , so Loki can neither be alone nor be with anyone else – Thor is the only option afforded him, and it’s driving him utterly insane. 

“Loki, why are you upset?” Thor demands, in an undertone. “We need to think of a pl—” Loki grabs him by the throat, and he slams Thor against a wall, so hard that the paint cracks. Thor chokes, but Loki pushes him farther off the ground, squeezing tight at the flesh of his brother’s throat. Thor’s hands grapple with Loki’s arm, but Loki has seiðr running in his veins, and Thor’s strength is no match for Loki’s own, not when Loki has caught him by surprise.

“If you say to me,” Loki says lowly, “ _one more time_ , that we need to escape, I will murder you. I will _kill_ you, and—”

“Lackey. Put the guy down.” Oh, _excellent_. Loki drops Thor to the ground, and he watches dispassionately as Thor chokes, rubbing his throat, his eyes watering.

“Scrapper-142,” Loki says. “Might we assist you with something? I believe the bar is _that_ way.” The scrapper is looking down at Thor, her hands on her hips, her head tilted slightly to the side. Then, she looks at Loki, narrowing her eyes slightly.

“You’re Æsir,” she says. Thor’s eyes widen, and with sudden joy, he jumps to his feet.

“I most certainly am _not_ ,” Loki says, with no small amount of disgust, and he ignores the upset look Thor shoots in his direction. “You are, though.” The scrapper’s expression changes, and she leans back, her lips twisting into a scowl. “You thought I didn’t _know_? How sweet. No, no, you’re Æsir. You’re… What, five thousand? You’ve partaken of Iðunn’s apple, for you are hale and hearty… You were a warrior. A higher warrior caste, actually… Valkyrie?” The scrapper is staring at him, her brown eyes a mix of _disgusted_ , and— Impressed. “Mmm. You make friends, Thor. I’ll go have fun elsewhere.” He turns on his heel, but Thor grabs him by the shoulder, pulling him back.

“What’s your name?” Thor says, excitedly. “Are you really a Valkyrie? I used to want to be a—”

“ _Goodbye_ ,” Loki repeats, and he lets his robe tear this time, walking swiftly away from Thor and immediately losing himself in the crowd. He doesn’t even try to mingle, instead dropping into a seat toward the side of the room and putting his face against his knees. He is so… Frustrated.

Two weeks of being continuously in Thor’s company, two weeks of not even having the privacy to _masturbate_ , after three years of being fucked every damned night. Loki feels he may vibrate to pieces.

“Hey,” the Grandmaster says, and Loki slowly turns his gaze from his knees to look at the Elder. The Grandmaster is looking down at him, one hand placed jauntily on his hip, the other holding a floral-scented cocktail, and he looks down at Loki, seeming _amused_. “You know, I gotta— I have to hand it to you, Lo-Lo. I thought it’d take maybe three days, _tops_ , before you threatened him like that. Two weeks? What a hold out.”

“Is that why you wouldn’t talk to me?” Loki asks, incredulously. “Because I hadn’t attempted to strangle my brother yet?”

“I’m just trying to, uh, let you… Let you work up some _healthy ire_. Get you nice and ready for the game I have planned.” Loki’s breath hitches in his throat. The Grandmaster’s games are always creative, and rather awful – ordinarily, especially awful for Loki himself. His bastardisation of Pass The Parcel is very much a relief compared to other imaginings of the Grandmaster’s. The number of unknown pills and medications Loki has been the test subject for, the number of awful parlour games…

Three years is a long time to be the favourite of a sex-crazed despot. Were it not for Thor’s unerring insistence on doing _nothing_ fun, nor even allowing Loki to think, perhaps the break might have been nice.

“The game?” Loki repeats. The Grandmaster grins.

“Yeah. See… Now, uh, correct me— correct me, uh, if I’m wrong, baby, but… You’ve always been in Thor’s shadow, huh? He’s always been the centre of attention, and you’ve always been off the side… I bet he, uh, makes sure you know your place is a few steps behind him. He’s the _king_ , after all, and you’re just… You.”

( _“Know your place, brother.”_ The words echo in his head.)

“And you wish, somehow, to even the plate?” Loki asks. The Grandmaster taps his nose, and it’s such a simple touch, but it makes Loki shudder, makes him lean forward in his seat, disgustingly eager for more. “How?”

“I want you to, uh, to spank big brother. If you do it… Honey, if you make him bleed, I’ll give you a reward.” Loki hesitates, and he bites down on his lip. To draw blood… He would really have to use his strength to force the flesh to split, or strike where the flesh is most sensitive… The Grandmaster sees his hesitation. “Aw. You don’t want to do it, huh? Well, I can, uh, I can keep the reward back.”

“What is the reward?” Loki asks, and the Grandmaster laughs at him. He touches Loki’s nose again, and then he grabs him by the chin, his thumb resting against Loki’s lower lip. When he speaks again, he is quietly patronising.

“It’s a surprise, sweetheart. But you, uh, you’ll want it, I _promise_. It’s, uh— Gee, I gotta say, honey, you’ll really regret going without.” Thor, infuriating Thor, frustrating Loki for weeks on end. Thor dragging him from telling a story; Thor dragging him from picking an ex-mayor’s pocket; Thor making Sakaar _boring_ —

“I’ll think about it,” Loki murmurs. He feels the desperate anger in his veins, the _fury_ at having Thor here, on Sakaar… But with every moment, the hatred is more distant. Loki has never been able to hate Thor, not for long, not truly.

“You know, honey,” the Grandmaster says softly, stroking his hand over Loki’s cheek. “You were…” He trails off, and then he sighs. “Aw. Well. Guess it’s not worth thinking about now.”

“What was I?” Loki asks, desperately. He oughtn’t ask. Oughtn’t be so eager to hear whatever manipulative dreck is going to tumble from between the Grandmaster’s lips, but for _two weeks_ , the only voice he has really heard has been his brother’s, and Loki has _missed_ the Grandmaster, despite himself.

Norns, he is mad. He is _insane_.

“Before your big brother came, well, honey, I… I thought, uh, maybe you were the _one_ for me, you know?” Loki’s breath hitches in his throat, catching there, as the Grandmaster looks at him with his honey-coloured eyes soft and sad and full of feeling, and he feels like bursting into tears. “I was thinking, you know, I’d love… Love to have a baby together.” Loki feels his heart shatter. “You know, honey, you know, I’d— I’d never leave you.” His fingers play over Loki’s chin, and Loki isn’t merely no longer breathing – he can scarcely feel his own lungs, his own body, his own _skin_. He is narrowed down to his chin and the Grandmaster’s thumb playing over the skin, touching the base of Loki’s lower lip. “But aw, I just couldn’t _trust_ you now. You just love your brother a bit, uh, a bit too much.”

The Grandmaster takes a step back, dragging his fingers away from Loki’s chin, and he calls over his shoulder. Loki greedily sucks in air, staring desperately at the Grandmaster, and he wishes he was dead. _Wishes_ , wishes— “ _Thor_! C’mere, baby.” Loki can see Thor across the room with the Valkyrie, see his uncertainty, and Thor slowly comes across the room. The Grandmaster greets him as he comes closer, slides his hands over Thor’s chest, and Loki can see Thor stiffen uncertainly—

And then the Grandmaster kisses him.

The Grandmaster is a good kisser – Loki knows this – and despite his uncertainty and his hatred and fear, Thor is stiff for just a moment before he relaxes under the Grandmaster’s tongue, before he lets the Grandmaster kiss right into his mouth. The Grandmaster catches Thor’s lower lip between his teeth, and Thor moans – but that is because, Loki suspects, the Grandmaster has grabbed hold of his cock through his red breeches.

The Grandmaster is murmuring against Thor’s mouth, slowly pushing him back toward a table— And Thor is shoved down on his chest. Thor grunts as his chest hits the glass surface, and he grasps at the sides of table as the Grandmaster drags his trousers down. He takes it. He doesn’t struggle, doesn’t kick the Grandmaster away, just grips tightly at the edges of the surface.

Loki can see his cock. He can see it pressed under Thor’s body, see it resting fat and half-hard on the table, see it big and wet at the head. Had that been from the Grandmaster, he wonders, or from the Valkyrie? Loki watches as the Grandmaster drags his fingers over the pucker of Thor’s hole, dry and playful and light, and Loki sees the way Thor _shudders_.

Two weeks. No touching. No space to masturbate, even. It had barely occurred to Loki that Thor was in the same boat as he.

“Aw, so… So responsive,” the Grandmaster purrs, and takes Thor’s sac in his hand, massaging it slowly. He rolls Thor’s balls between his fingers and his thumb, and Loki watches at the way his brother _trembles_ , the way Thor grits his teeth and presses back into the touch. “You know, honey, I— I put you guys in the same _room_. Same bed. What, you didn’t, uh… Loki wouldn’t take care of you?”

Thor exhales, and he presses his head against his forearms, rolling his hips back against the Grandmaster’s hand. “No,” he grunts. “We don’t— I don’t want him to touch me.”

“Aw,” the Grandmaster murmurs, shooting Loki a _pout_. “But you, uh, you want to be _touched_ , right, honey?”

“That’s a loaded question.” The Grandmaster laughs, and Loki knows when he squeezes because Thor squirms.

“Okay, okay, lemme ask you, uh… Thor. Honey. _Sparkles_. Would you rather me touch you, or Loki?” As he speaks, he begins to squeeze harder. Loki can see Thor stiffen, the way his eyes widen, and he sees Thor’s grip tighten on the edge of the table, sees the pain become worse and worse.

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor chokes out, and when the Grandmaster lets his sac go, Thor flattens on the table, _slumping_. Loki presses his lips together as the Grandmaster beckons him forward, and he looks down at his brother, trying draw up the anger he’d felt earlier, the irritation at Thor, but it doesn’t come to his fingertips. He sees his brother sprawled on the table, his trousers messily dragged down around his knees, and he only feels an aching pain in his chest.

“Remember what I told you, Lo-Lo,” the Grandmaster whispers in his ear as he passes. “If you don’t take the reward, I’ll give it to big, uh, big brother here.”

“What is it?” Loki asks again. The Grandmaster laughs his easy laugh, and Loki sets his jaw, looking down at Thor’s backside. The curve of his buttocks is generous, and Loki can see the fat that protects his thighs as well, resting easy over the thick muscle there. “I have to strike you,” Loki says quietly.

“I’ll survive,” Thor says. Loki brings his hand down.

There is a sound like a whip crack as his hand makes contact with Thor’s left arsecheek, and he sees the fat flesh _jiggle_ at the blow: Thor grunts and jolts on the table, and Loki is grateful that he cannot see his face. Loki can feel the slight burn in his own palm, and he knows that Thor isn’t a masochist in the same way Loki is, knows he doesn’t _crave_ pain, but—

“I can’t do this,” Loki says, drawing his hands back. Thor is breathing heavily where he’s sprawled over the table, and the Grandmaster smiles at him, holding up twin pills. There are small and pink, and Loki recognises them: Pill #9 is an aphrodisiac of obscene proportions, that electrifies the skin and makes even the smallest touch a delight. It makes one _crave_ a touch against one’s skin, and Loki watches as the Grandmaster moves forward, tipping Thor’s chin up.

“I want to give you a— I’m gonna put a pill in your mouth. Okay, sweetie? It’s gonna, uh, it’s gonna dissolve on your tongue real quick, so I need you to swallow it.” Loki sees Thor’s hesitation in the stiffness of his shoulders, but then he sees Thor nod, sees the Grandmaster’s fingers slip into his mouth and set the pill there. Thor swallows, and there is a moment’s silence. The effect of Pill #9 is instantaneous, once it settles in the stomach, and Loki watches dispassionately as Thor’s stiff form suddenly convulses.

“ _Ungh_ ,” he moans, and Loki hits him on the right cheek. Thor shudders, his hips bucking down against the table, and Loki can see the way his brother’s back arches, see the pleasure that takes him over, and the guilt is somewhat assuaged. He slides his hand under the fabric of Thor’s shirt, playing over his lower back before flattening out his cool palm to keep Thor still and pressed against the table – to keep him pinned in place – and he begins his task in earnest.

Every blow makes Thor jolt and grunt, and Loki swallows down his guilt, his overwhelming disgust at seeing the way his brother’s hips uncontrollably jerk and grind against the glass table beneath them. Thor is no doubt electrified by the slide of his cock against the cool glass, and with every smack of Loki’s hand, he is shoved harder against the table.

Loki has been spanked on Pill #9 before. He had been sprawled over the Grandmaster’s lap, and he had come twice – once at the grind of his own cock against the Grandmaster’s thigh, and once more when the Grandmaster had spanked his cunt so hard that he’d _bled_ , and Loki had felt the agonising pain, felt the awful split of his own flesh—

And been in ecstasy.

Pill #9 changes everything, and he knows it, but can Loki do it? _Really_? It is one thing to cut Thor open, but another entirely to smack him so hard, and so much, that the skin splits. Loki brings a blow down against Thor’s hole, and Thor nearly _screams_ , pressing desperately back for more as the burning pain rings through the sensitive skin.

But the Grandmaster had—

He had never said he had to make Thor bleed from the _spanking_. He had said to make him bleed, and that was all.

Loki brings a flurry of hard blows down at once, seeing the sun-kissed flesh darken as blood rushes to the surface, as capillaries are broken beneath the skin and the blood seeps out to darken the flesh, making Thor’s arse red and _glowing_ with colour… Thor is coming to pieces under the barrage of blows, and Loki inhales as he sees him whine and gasp, as he sees Thor _groan_.

“Are you going to come?” Loki asks, and he brings his hand down again, just before Thor can answer: Thor shudders, and he nods his head, evidently not trusting himself to make words, to attempt something so complex as speech.

“Do— _Brother!”_ Loki drags his nails over the abused flesh of Thor’s buttocks, seeing white lines left behind on the bruising sea of red, and Thor grunts, shuddering as he presses desperately back for more. He glances up from Thor to look at the Grandmaster, and sees the Grandmaster’s smirking lips.

 _“Bleed_ ,” he mouths. It’s a short, sharp shift of Loki’s fingernail - not on Thor’s arse, but higher, on his hip. Thor moans at that, too - stupid pill, stupid, ridiculous drug - and Loki feels the heat as blood drips over his fingers. The wound is healed as swiftly as it is made, and Loki looks up from Thor’s form, catching the Grandmaster’s golden gaze.

He is visibly displeased. Loopholes are never what they seem on Sakaar.

Moving forward, he strides across the room, and Loki lets out a noise of complaint as the Grandmaster grabs him by the jaw, forcing his lips to part so that he can slip the pill onto his tongue, and Loki tries to spit it out, but finds he cannot - the Grandmaster’s magic keeps the pill in his mouth, and Loki has no other option than to swallow it. It tastes of sugar and cinnamon, and it fizzles on Loki’s tongue and fizzles more as it slides down his throat.

Already, the Grandmaster is moving away, and he holds up a pill Loki doesn’t recognize. It is a creamy-white colour, oval in its shape, and Loki watches as he slips it between Thor’s lips - more gently, Loki cannot help but notice, than he had with Loki’s own. Thor swallows obediently this time, and the Grandmaster looks at Loki with hard eyes.

“You— You know, honey, that was your reward, right there. Thor gets it instead.”

“What is it?” Loki asks, for the third time, and the Grandmaster taps Thor’s shoulder. Thor’s fat cock is wet with precome and dripping, sloppy and curving up toward his belly, and Loki is reminded of how it tastes, reminded of its salty musk-- Disgust pools in his belly, but so too does arousal. Pill #9 is making his skin feel too hot, making him feel like he needs to be touched, _needs_ to be, as if he will die without it.

Thor’s eyes are glassy. He lets the Grandmaster drag his clothes off his body, looking at the Grandmaster with an unveiled and blatant curiosity, as if he has never seen the Grandmaster before, and he leans right into the Grandmaster’s touch, eager for it.

“Hey there, sweetheart, hey,” the Grandmaster murmurs, and he catches Thor’s lips in a kiss. Thor moans against his mouth, leaning right into it: the Grandmaster’s hands drag over Thor’s naked, red-smacked arse, and Thor shudders, pressing his body against the Grandmaster’s eagerly, with desire…

Loki is jealous. His every inch of skin is beginning to spark with flame from beneath the skin, and he cannot stand it. He stands in his light, blue robes, and the silk of them is unbearable - the cool, supple fabric is a ghost of a touch, nothing like a _body_ touching him, and he needs it, aches for it…

“What’s your name, honey?” the Grandmaster asks softly, his words lost in the plump, pink flesh of Thor’s mouth.

“Thor,” Thor says, confidently.

“And what’s my name?” Thor furrows his brow. Confusion shows in his features, and the glassy look in his blue eyes deepens further.

“Uh—”

“Don’t worry about it,” the Grandmaster says smoothly, easily. “I, uh, I have a present for you.”

“A present?” Thor repeats. He and the Grandmaster are chest to chest, and even midway through the conversation, Thor is grinding himself against the Grandmaster’s thigh - he can scarcely help himself, and Loki hates it, _hates_ the fact that he can’t either. He presses his heel against his own cock through the fabric of the silk, and he feels himself groan, feels his knees _buckle_ at the sudden electricity that pulses through his body.

“Yeah, yeah, I— here. Look.” And then the Grandmaster has Loki by the hair, and Loki moans at the tight tug on his scalp, shuddering as the Grandmaster rids him of his clothes with but a snap of his fingers. Shoving him back onto the table, Loki wrinkles his nose as he feels his lower back in the place where Thor’s cock had been, feels it streak against his back, filthy—

The Grandmaster ties him by his wrists and ankles to the edges of the table, and Loki whines as the Grandmaster slides his fingers over Loki’s cunt, where a little wetness is beginning to gather. “This, Thor, this is Loki… And he’s here, just for you.” And suddenly, the spell of Loki’s desperate arousal is cut through: all at once, he connects the dots of the horror of the situation. Loki, tied prone on a table that the Grandmaster is already lowering by an inch to leave him at waist height; Thor, dosed with a pill that fills him with uncontrollable arousal, and then with another that will leave him ignorant of who, exactly, Loki is.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no—

“Grandmaster,” Loki says desperately. “No, no, I won’t… Please, don’t. Don’t let him—”

“See, he’s just, uh… He wants it, really,” the Grandmaster says, and he brings his hand down hard against Loki’s cunt. The wet slap is awful, ringing through the room, and Loki jolts on the table, letting out a desperate cry of pain and pleasure at the burning heat that stings through the sensitive flesh, as he feels blood rush lower, making his lips swell… “He’s just scared of how big you are.”

“A virgin?” Thor asks, seeming fascinated, and he leans in, peering at Loki’s quim with undisguised interest and curiosity. His thumb and forefinger take hold of Loki’s cock, jerking the little shaft, and Loki whines. “He looks tight.”

“He is,” the Grandmaster agrees. “Make sure you, uh, really work him open, huh? Get him ready to take that monster of yours.”

“ _No_ ,” Loki says again, emphatically, and Thor leans in, dragging his tongue over Loki’s cock. Thor moans at the taste of him, and Loki moans at the sensation, unable not to arch into it – but no, no, that is _Thor’s_ mouth, Thor’s beard bristling against his lips and his entrance, Thor— “No, Thor, you _can’t_ , we’re… You’re my _brother_ , you mustn’t—”

Thor chuckles quietly, and Loki hates the glassy stare of his eyes. “I have no brother,” he says, and he dips his tongue inside. Loki cries out, unable not to drive himself down onto the wonderful heat of it as he did two weeks ago – he is astonished by how quickly he is growing wet and open and ready, but…

“No, no, too soon!” Loki says desperately as Thor comes to his feet. “You’re too big, you’ll break me, you can’t, Thor, we mustn’t—”

“Shush,” Thor instructs, and Loki cannot stand the desperate fear within him, cannot stand it, as Thor lines himself up. Just his head is huge, nudging against Loki’s not-yet-open entrance and piercing him, making stinging pain run through him. Thor can’t do this, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t—

Thor slams forward in one ugly motion, impaling Loki as if on a spear, and Loki screams. Pleasure runs through his veins as hot as molten metal, and yet he is horrified, horrified and disgusted, because Thor’s cock is _inside_ him, and kick as he might try, as much as he might try to rid himself of the bonds, he cannot.

“Please, take it out,” he begs, even as Thor shifts slightly and better hilts himself within Loki’s entrance, and pleasure burns from within his core. “Please, _please_ , take it out, please—”

“What are you scared of?” Thor asks lowly, and he leans in, blanketing Loki’s body with his own. His body surges at the touch, but he can feel the heat pricking behind his eyes, and Loki shakes his head. Thor’s fingers move to Loki’s nipples, tugging on the buds there, and Loki cries out, letting out a desperate whine. The pleasure is incalculable, running through his chest and making his skin _sing_ , but no, no, he doesn’t want this, he can’t stand it, can’t—

Thor begins to thrust, and Loki loses it. Tears are hot on his cheeks, and he sobs as Thor fucks him hard, slamming into him with every thrust. Loki’s cunt _aches_ , but with every thrust it is opened up, forced to take more of his brother’s cock, and Loki wails as Thor takes hold of his mound, squeezing it tightly so that with every thrust of his hips, Loki’s cock is caught between the flesh. It’s unbearably good, and Loki whines, gritting his teeth as he feels the hot tears run down his cheeks.

Thor is setting a fast and sharp pace, and he says, “You’re _filthy_. Norns, I’m lucky to have you, aren’t I? Such a wonderful little whore for me—” Loki wails, unable not to arch and pull tight at his bonds as electricity crackles from Thor’s fingers, hot on Loki’s flesh and electrifying the skin, and Loki cannot bear it, cannot bear the orgasm coiling low in his belly, cannot bear _any_ of it.

“No, no, I’m not, I don’t want—”

“You’re _mine_ ,” Thor growls, and as he continues that punishing pace, continues to slam home into Loki’s cunt again and again and again, he dips and sucks hard at Loki’s nipple. Loki cries as Thor digs his teeth over the sensitive nub, because that’s good too, it is, it is, it is—

And he could have been the one to forget. He could have been the one not knowing, could have been the one escaping this all, and he hates himself for wanting it, hates himself—

“You know, Thor,” the Grandmaster murmurs, and Loki gasps as more electricity shoots from Thor’s hands, running hot over Loki’s skin and making him convulse and arch and writhe. “You could put a baby in him.”

“No!” Loki screams.

“You could, you could… You’re known for your, uh, fertility, right?” the Grandmaster asks, and Thor jolts – the Grandmaster must be playing with his balls again, and Loki hates the jump of arousal that shoots through him at the thought. “What if you, uh, got him pregnant, Thor?”

Thor groans low in his throat, and his cock, wet and sloppy and thick, begins to lose its pace slightly. His hips stutter, and Loki shakes his head no, shakes his head.

“Pull out,” he hisses. “ _Pull out_.”

“Oh, you’re such a _spoilsport_ , Lo-Lo,” the Grandmaster scolds him, and when he smacks Loki’s thigh, Loki hates how it makes him eagerly thrust up for more. “Let him… Let him have some fun.”

“Please,” Loki begs, looking desperately up at the Grandmaster as he leans in, playing dispassionately with a strand of Loki’s hair. “Please, _please_ , don’t let him… I’ll do whatever—” Loki hates it. Hates the swirl of emotions in his chest, the desperation, the fury, the _terror_. “Don’t let it catch, _don’t_ —”

Thor is coming. Loki can’t help the new wave of tears, can’t help the way he sobs and cries as he feels Thor’s spend hot within his cunny, too hot to stand, and there’s too much of it, too much of it that slicks the sides of his walls, and Thor _doesn’t stop_. He drags back and drops down once more, taking Loki’s cock in his mouth and sucking hard at it, leaving his come dripping from Loki’s soaking quim, and Loki _bleats_ at a graze of teeth.

“Just enjoy it, honey,” the Grandmaster says softly. “Thor… He’s _more_ than your brother now, huh? Doesn’t he make you feel good?” Loki’s cock is twitching in Thor’s mouth, Loki’s orgasm coiled tight, and Loki can’t stand it, _won’t_ — “Oh, he loves you, and he can’t even, huh, _remember you._ How many loads do you think he’ll, uh, shoot in you, huh? Four? Five?”

The Grandmaster drags his fingers through the tear tracks on Loki’s face, and he _grins_.

Ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ Ϟ

By the end of it all, Loki is wrecked. His cunt is open and purple, streaks of Thor’s come visible on his thighs; his arse is open too, from when the Grandmaster had suggested they fuck Loki at once, really _drive him wild_ , and Loki cannot bear the languid heat in his own limbs.

He is wound around Thor’s neck, his face pressed against the flesh of his throat, and he thinks of the Grandmaster’s voice in his ear as Thor had fucked him for the second time, sliding in where he was still open and wet, and making him come _again_.  “No more, uh, no more sleeping apart, sweetheart. You’re in the same bed, so you’d better be touching when you’re in bed together.”

And later, when Loki is bend over a sofa, and Thor is driving into him like he wishes to plough a furrow within him, the Grandmaster cups Loki’s cheeks and purrs, “Big brother seems like he’s, uh, getting hard? _You_ take care of it. There and then.”

And then, when Loki’s tears have run dry, when Thor is bouncing him on his cock like he weighs nothing at all, and the Grandmaster is moaning as Loki slides down onto his cock, taking the Grandmaster’s incandescent _heat_ into his arse as Thor fucks his ruined cunt. “And, huh, maybe… We’ll try you out with a collar, huh? Let’s not— Let’s not let you forget, hmm, who you _belong_ to.”

“I’m _yours_ ,” Loki attempts, plaintively.

“Too late, Kiki,” the Grandmaster replies sweetly, and Loki screams when electricity runs sudden and abrupt through his cock, making him clench tightly around the twin cocks within him.

Loki knows when the new pill wears off, because Thor is suddenly stiff under Loki’s body, and Loki is too exhausted to move. He doesn’t even try, just nuzzling closer to Thor’s chest and revelling in the momentary understanding that Thor isn’t fucking him right now. Thor’s come is still hot inside him, still dripping out of him, and Loki is terrified, terrified – it shouldn’t catch, it oughtn’t catch, but what if it does? What if it _does_?

“Loki,” Thor says lowly. He remembers it all, now.

“We need to escape,” Loki whispers, brokenly. “We need to _go_.”

“It’s alright,” Thor says – it’s a lie, and Loki hates him for it, loves him for it. He wraps his arms tightly around Loki ( _he’s not just your brother anymore),_ slides his hands over Loki’s back ( _let’s not forget who you belong to)_ , and Loki hates the way he shivers when they slide lower, touching over Loki’s arse. “I’m sorry.”

Thor lifts him like he weighs nothing, and Loki hates the comfort it brings him to cling to his big brother’s chest, to feel the naked flesh beneath his own – so _warm_ , so pleasantly dusted with golden hair – and when they slide into bed, Loki presses his body against Thor’s like a blanket.

“Don’t let me go,” he whispers, _begs_.

“I won’t,” Thor says softly. “I promise you, brother, I won’t.”

He doesn’t.

Loki is desperately relieved when he finally falls asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

The days on Sakaar pass very slowly, even more slowly than before.

At first, Loki tries to resist. He sleeps on the floor, instead of next to Thor, and the Grandmaster whips Thor until white flecks of bone show beneath his flesh, and Loki sobs as he grabs at the hem of the Grandmaster’s robes, begging him, begging him to stop. He sleeps in the bed next to Thor, a pillow between them, and the Grandmaster breaks every bone in Thor’s hands, before snapping each of his ribs, one by one.

Loki stops resisting.

He does as he is bid.

Every night, Loki and Thor sleep in the same bed, and Loki curls himself against Thor’s side, his face pressed into the pillow of Thor’s chest. He falls asleep to the heat of Thor’s body, the beat of his heart – his heart beats slower than the Grandmaster’s, much slower. It takes Loki hours to get to sleep, because Thor is too cold and yet too hot, his heartbeat _wrong_ , his skin too wet – Loki hates the way he _sweats_ , hates feeling the saline drip of the stuff against his own skin.

When Thor becomes aroused, it is Loki who must service him.

As soon as he becomes even the slightest bit hard, as soon as even some blood rushes downward, whether it is from some erotic sight, from a touch of hands against his body, or even from a drug the Grandmaster has given him… As soon as that happens, Loki is to prostrate himself upon his knees at Thor’s feet.

Thor tries to resist it, at first. He tries to just stroke Loki’s hair, tries to just hold Loki in his lap – anything to avoid actually allowing Loki to touch his cock, anything to keep Loki from having to bring him off.

The Grandmaster throws Loki onto the floor of the arena, where a Yarsht – the six-legged wolf men of Yiok, with their snapping jaws and fat, heavy cocks ripe with fist-sized knots – is in rut, and Loki sobs into the dirt as he is fucked too hard and too fast, begging to be allowed back at Thor’s side.

After that, Thor does as he is bid, and lets Loki make him come – all the better to avoid having to come himself, all the better to avoid being _fucked_. Here, he can service Thor with his mouth, his hands, once with the breasts he had swollen to fullness, but he escapes being fucked, and therein lies the tiniest mercy.

He still wakes at night, even after weeks, thinking of Thor’s hot spend inside him, dripping down his thighs, coming from him…

“You could ask me, you know,” Thor says that morning, as Loki pulls the blouse onto his brother’s shoulders and tries not to think. Here is the routine they have settled into, because it is what the Grandmaster desires of him: it is paramount, the Grandmaster says, that Loki accept Thor’s place as his new king, and how better than to show himself as _loyal_ than to allow himself to be Thor’s attendant? “If you— He won’t let you come on… On your own, but I can give you permission, brother, even if I do not touch you myself.”

“I don’t want to,” Loki says immediately, and he buttons up the blouse, leaving the two top buttons unbuttoned, the collar open and loose. “I don’t want to— I have no desire.”

“But I see your— You get so _hard_ , and you drip, when you… When you touch me.” Loki represses the urge to gag, and he turns his face away, just for a moment, trying his best to control his breathing. He sees the guilt in Thor’s face, feels it palpable upon the air – Thor hates to offer this, hates to ask. He wants only for Loki to be comfortable.

As if Loki will ever be comfortable again.

“Merely a response to the physical,” Loki whispers, his voice hoarse as he tries to swallow his nausea. “Not a desire for completion on my own part.”

“You’d want it if the Grandmaster were offering,” Thor says. Loki stiffens, and Thor stiffens too, because he knows what he’s said, knows precisely why it punches home. Loki has done his best to stifle his loathing, his _anger_ , but he will not have this, will not have Thor _self-righteous_.

He tears his hands away from Thor’s chest, and he focuses on pulling on his own outer robe.

“ _I, uh, I want Loki in something green tonight, Sparkles. Can you, uh, can you tell him that, from me?_ ” the Grandmaster had said that morning, his tone saccharinely sweet, as Loki had whimpered over Thor’s lap, Thor’s fingers absently curled into and playing with the rim of his arse. It had been the Grandmaster’s _suggestion_ , and Loki had been dripping with wetness before he was finally able to stand and retreat to their rooms, where he bathed for _hours_.

So Loki wears a light tunic of forest green, with light leggings to match, and he pins his hair neatly into a bun. He can feel Thor watching him, can feel Thor’s eyes on the back of his neck, and he flicks his gaze up to the mirrors on the wall to see Thor in the reflection there.

“I’m sorry,” Thor says. He doesn’t even know what he’s apologising for, and he doesn’t bother to ask – he just apologises, as if it _means_ anything, as if Loki could possibly be made to care…

Loki says nothing.

Taking up his boots, he drags them onto his feet. They’re made of brown leather, and they are supple and soft: he cannot resist brushing over their smooth fabric with his fingers.

“You’re dressed like Fandral,” Thor says. “Do you know that?” Loki remains in his place crouched on the floor: Thor levels it at him like an accusation, and Loki wonders, across the universe, if Fandral yet lives. Is he upon Asgard, where Heimdall corrals what remains of the people Loki ruled not a decade ago? Is he elsewhere, safe and sound? Loki swallows, and he wraps his arms around his knees, staying in a very small ball for a few minutes.

“He was my friend too, you know, when we were children,” Loki murmurs. “He was the only person on Asgard, outside of you and Mother, that ever treated me with kindness, gave me the benefit of the doubt.”

“You talk of him as if he’s dead,” Thor says.

“He probably is,” Loki says miserably, and he gets to his feet, moving out into the corridor. He waits a moment for Thor to follow him, and they walk together out into the throne hall. On a central dais, the Grandmaster has set up the chess table again, with two chairs upon it, but one is already taken.

Loki’s breath hitches in his throat as the second man stands, and he freezes in his place, heaving in a stuttered gasp of air, as the Collector turns to look at him. For a long moment, Tivan freezes, furrowing his brow and looking at Loki for a long few moments.

“Lauti,” Tivan says.

“ _Lauti_ ,” the Grandmaster repeats, with delight. “Is that what you call him?” Loki stays very still as the Collector slides forward, gracefully moving across the floor, and when his fingers brush his cheek, Loki doesn’t flinch.

“You were… a good attendant,” Tivan murmurs softly, his thumb touching the tip of Loki’s chin: his fingers are pleasantly cool. “I thought… that you were dead.”

“Oh, I was, for at least fifteen seconds, I think,” Loki says apologetically. He remembers it well, the explosion that wrought its way through Knowhere – by the Norns, that was nearly fifteen _centuries_ ago, now, and yet Tivan had remembered him so quickly… “But I woke up. I’m flattered you remember me, Collector – it was such a long time ago that last we met. I don’t suppose you could use another attendant now?” The Collector’s lips twitch, and he _laughs_ quietly, palming over Loki’s cheek. Behind him, the Grandmaster chuckles at Loki’s desperate invitation – or perhaps he laughs at Tivan’s refusal.

“No,” he says. “I have one.” He looks Loki up and down, taking in his tunic, and then he looks over Loki’s shoulder, to Thor. “Hm. A wonderful… _specimen_ , En Dwi. This is— Prince Thor, hmm?” Tivan moves to step forward, and Loki spreads his hand on his chest, stopping him.

“No,” Loki says. “You have one.” Quietly, Tivan chuckles, clasping his hands together in evident amusement, and he airily steps away.

“Fine, _fine_ … I must go, anyway… Good night, En Dwi.”

“Night-night, Tan-Tan! Love you!” the Grandmaster – En Dwi, his name is, En Dwi, and here is a scrap of power just for Loki, the power of a name! – calls out his reply, but his eyes are on Thor. His lips quirk into an amused, _delighted_ little grin, and he pats the seat across from him at the chess table before moving forward, pressing kisses to each of Thor’s cheeks. “So, um, _Sparkles_ ,” En Dwi murmurs, and he clasps at Thor’s hands. Thor is stiff as a board, his chin slightly high, and he lets En Dwi massage his palms with clever thumbs. “How did that, um, make you feel?”

“What?” Thor asks, confused, and Loki freezes, bringing his hands up to his chest.

“Grandmaster, I didn’t— I didn’t mean to be rude, the Collector and I—”

“Hush, baby,” En Dwi says sharply, and Loki bites his lip: the Grandmaster won’t even _look_ at him, and it makes Loki crumble inside, makes him fill to the brim with horrible, horrible shame, with _self-loathing_. Why does it hurt him so much, that the Grandmaster should place his favour on _Thor’s_ shoulders, instead of his own, when the Grandmaster is a madman, a monster?

( _Because everyone has always done that, always loved Thor over you, all your life, and isn’t it just worse than even a monster should do the same?_ )

“How did it make you feel,” En Dwi repeats softly, reaching up to softly cup Thor’s bearded cheeks, “that your little brother knew mine, huh? How did it make you feel, Sparkles, that, uh, Tan-Tan knew Loki by a different name _entirely_?” Thor sets his jaw, and Loki’s lips part. What was he supposed to do? How was he meant to—

“Fine,” Thor says. “It is no business of mine what Loki has done with his past, unless he chooses to tell me.” It’s the truth, a truth Loki has been desperate for Thor to acknowledge for _centuries_ , and yet coming from Thor’s mouth, it feels like a lie.

“Come on, baby,” En Dwi murmurs, stroking a hand down Thor’s chest and making him shiver. “Come, uh, come play chess with me.”

“I’m not very good,” Thor mutters, and he is right. Loki isn’t a player of games himself, doesn’t especially enjoy any kind of board game, but he at least applies himself, does his best to at least offer a challenge – Thor must bore En Dwi _so much_ , and yet En Dwi chooses to play against _him_ , against him—

“Sit down, honey,” En Dwi says, drawing Thor forward by the hand, and he lets Thor slide himself into the seat across from him. “Lo-Lo, your brother, he looks— Don’t you think he looks too hot? You should, um, you should keep him cool.” En Dwi gives a little nod toward Thor’s crotch, and Loki sighs, but he obeys.

He slides to his knees, and he begins to unbutton the trousers he had only just buttoned _for_ Thor back in their quarters, and he feels Thor spread his legs slightly. Logically, Loki knows he is only doing it to give Loki more space beneath the cramped chess table, so that he can keep from bashing his head upon the surface above him, but he feels himself flare with anger despite himself – it is almost as if Thor is _asking_ for it, desiring more…

He shoves Thor’s trousers open a little bit too roughly, and he looks at the thick, fat length of Thor’s cock, soft and heavy against his thigh. Loki swallows, and then he leans in slightly, wondering if this is what it should come to – smelling the musk of his brother’s cock beneath his nose, feeling the heat of him… But at least Thor isn’t fucking him anymore.

At least.

Loki leans in and he carefully takes Thor’s cockhead onto his tongue, slowly leaning forward and taking more of it into his mouth. Thor’s cock is warm and it tastes bitter and salty – it tastes _good_ , to Loki’s Jötunn tastebuds, and he hates that, he hates it… But he must. He takes Thor’s cock into his mouth, careful not to flick his tongue over it or to titillate Thor overmuch, and he lets himself relax when he feels his nose brush against the curly, coarse hair at the base of Thor’s cock. Thor’s cock is a heavy weight within his mouth, brushing the back of his throat, and Loki forces himself to relax, laying his head on Thor’s plump, muscular thigh.

He closes his eyes, and when Thor delicately plays his left hand through Loki’s hair, Loki—

It feels _good_.

Loki is so tired of being angry at Thor, of being angry, is so _tired_. Thor’s hand is rough as it palms over his hair, his fingers brushing through the dark locks. Loki’s eyes flutter slightly, and he lets out a soft noise around Thor’s cock, pressing himself against Thor’s thigh.

“See?” Thor whispers softly. “It’s— It’s alright, Loki. It’s alright.”

Loki expects to gag, but it doesn’t come.

It doesn’t come.

Ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ ϟ ❄ Ϟ

It is the greatest of reliefs when Thor feels Loki relax against his thigh. For weeks on end, Thor has teetered on the fine line between keeping the Grandmaster happy – and thus keeping Loki safe from the Elder’s temper – and keeping _Loki_ happy – and thus keeping Loki safe from his own folly. Thor hates this, hates being forced to touch his brother in such a way, but—

But isn’t it better? For Loki to have to touch _Thor_ , instead of some other monstrous, rabid stranger here upon Sakaar?

Isn’t it better, when Thor will be tender, even when he is forced to shove his cock down Loki’s throat? When Thor is soft, and yet still heavy on Loki’s tongue?

He glances down at Loki, and he sees his brother looks almost peaceful, his head rested against Thor’s thigh, his eyes closed. He relaxes even more so when Thor delicately strokes his hair, even softly moans, and when Thor’s fingers brush lower, playing over the side of his neck, he feels Loki swallow around him, but—

It doesn’t feel anxious. The last bit of tension seems to eke out of him, and Thor feels his brother languid against his thigh—

It’s horrific, that _this_ should please him. It’s terrible, it’s… It’s disgusting.

And yet relief still blooms within him.

Thor looks slowly over the board, surveying his possible moves, and he is glad that Loki’s mouth isn’t too much of a distraction. Loki’s mouth is cool and wet, his tongue a pleasant slide on the base of Thor’s cock, but there is no _stimulation_ , no… Nothing terrible.

Nothing…

Thor takes up his queenside knight, and he moves it, putting one of the Grandmaster’s rooks in jeopardy, and the Grandmaster pours him more wine. Every now and then, he will tap the side of the glass, gesturing for Thor to take a drink, and Thor is helpless but to obey.

He keeps expecting some strangeness to happen, keeps expecting the Grandmaster to bring in some manner of torture, some horror, some _memory_ of something unpleasant, even, but it does not come. Loki remains on his knees beneath the table, his thin lips wrapped around Thor’s cock, as Thor loses game after game.

“More wine,” the Grandmaster says, smiling, and Thor hesitates as he watches the red gush of thick liquid into his glass, hears the quiet _glug glug_ as it exits the carafe. Thor’s bladder is beginning to feel slightly full, a pressure building behind his pubic bone, and he shakes his head. “More wine,” the Grandmaster says firmly, and he pushes the glass forward, until the stem brushes Thor’s fingertips.

“Grandmaster,” Thor murmurs. “If I might, ah— Be excused?”

“No, no, _no_ ,” the Grandmaster says, clucking his tongue and shaking his head. “ Lo-Lo looks so peaceful under the table like that, huh? You don’t want to disturb him.” Thor glances down at Loki, who is completely relaxed now, his eyes still closed – Thor doesn’t know if he is asleep or merely meditating, but it has been _years_ since he has seen Loki seem so—

It has been decades.

“But—” Thor mutters, and the Grandmaster presses the glass into his hand. Reluctantly, Thor brings it to his mouth, and takes a tiny sip. The wine is pleasant, tart and summery on his tongue, but the Grandmaster presses two fingers to the flat base of the glass, and he tilts it upward, so that Thor is forced to drink more of it.

Swallow by awful swallow, he drains the glass, and he feels his bladder give a painful lurch. He cannot bear the heat that prickles on his skin, leaving him sensitive and jittery, and as he shifts in his seat, Loki stirs, his eyes fluttering open. He grunts around Thor’s soft cock, and Thor pats his head, seeing Loki’s defocused eyes slowly come to awareness again, looking up at Thor blearily.

“More wine,” the Grandmaster decides, and he pours more into the glass. Thor can’t stand the sound it makes – a little trickle into the glass, and he sees it froth slightly as droplets land into the sink of red.

“Grandmaster,” Thor says, slightly urgently. He can feel the _burning_ inside his cock, the desperate need to release himself, to— “Grandmaster, I— I must go. Loki will be fine, for just a moment, I merely need to—”

“More wine,” the Grandmaster whispers, meeting Thor’s gaze. His golden eyes are hard, his lips quirking softly into a smile, and Thor feels himself shudder.

“I need to _go_.”

“Then go,” the Grandmaster says smoothly. “But, uh, Sparkles? Honey?” Thor looks at him, and the Grandmaster shows his teeth. “If you, um… If he spills even a _drop_ , I’m gonna skin him with one of his cute little knives, and make a rug out of the leather.” Thor’s breath hitches in his throat, and he looks down at Loki, who is visibly alarmed, his eyes awake and _wide_.

“I’m sorry,” Thor whispers, and he sees the panic in Loki’s expression as he tries to put his hands on Thor’s knees, wanting to lean back and drag himself away, but he can’t, he _can’t_ — Thor grips tighter at Loki’s hair, and he pulls his brother to remain flush against his crotch, even as he struggles to control his traitorous bladder, to stop himself… “I’m sorry, Loki, I can’t, I _can’t_ —”

He feels a tiny bit of him he is trying so hard to keep tense _relax_ , and the piss is hot where it flows down the length of his cock. Loki wails, trying to smack at Thor’s thighs to pull himself free, but Thor grips him tighter and leans to the edge of the chair, keeping Thor slightly below him to make sure he can’t spill any.

He feels Loki swallow, feels his throat working as his bladder slowly empties, and he hates the _relief_ he feels, despises how _good_ it feels. Loki whimpers, but he takes it all – has to take it all, or choke. Loki’s eyes are watering, his hands limply sliding over Thor’s thighs, and when Thor is finally done, when he is finally empty…

He lets Loki go.

Loki coughs hard, against the inner part of his elbow, and he sits back on his arse, staring up at Thor.

Thor expects the harsh words, the anger, the _fury_ … None of it comes.

None of it.

After a long pause, a long few moments, resignedly, Loki lays his head against Thor’s knee, staring unseeingly at Thor’s soft cock. Thor glances from him to the Grandmaster, who is just— He’s _beaming_.

“You two,” he whispers. “Aw, Sparkles, you… My little Lo-Lo, he’ll just take anything you give him, won’t you? You know, I did that to him once, back when _he_ was my favourite. And you wanna know the funniest thing? The cutest thing?”

Thor swallows. “Yes, Grandmaster?” he asks, even though he would rather die than hear it, even though he knows he will hate the answer—

“He came. Right in his little leather pants, he _came_ , because I filled him up just right. Ain’t that, uh— Ain’t that right, Lo-Lo?” Thor watches Loki, and he sees him draw in a slow, shuddering breath—

And then exhale.

It’s the truth, then. It’s the truth.

Thor wishes he could be angry at him, wishes he could be angry at his brother for being so _stupid_ as to desire what the Grandmaster gives him, to desire the Grandmaster… But the anger is weak, distant. It is but a spark, and is far from a burning flame. Thor is just—

He is too tired.

“Did you like that, Lo-Lo?” the Grandmaster asks, softly. “Tell the truth, now.”

“No, Grandmaster,” Loki mumbles, and the Grandmaster laughs as new guilt seems to douse Thor’s heart in ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short update! Next one - which is gonna be centred around forced feminisation for Thor - will be longer. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Just a note that I am pretty much always open for requests, and you can send them to me at [DictionaryWrites](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.
> 
> Totally let me know what you think of the fic!


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